Sociopaths, UTD
by Cynewulf
Summary: It is difficult to be an outcast in any school, but only the worst can be Hufflepuff outcasts. But, as a consequence of tunneling, uncontrollable anger, and a couple of sharp retorts, an unlikely friendship is born between a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer**: The world and some of the characters belong to JKR, as we all know.

**Author notes:** In this chapter you will encounter a Slytherin gang, unfriendly, highly unpleasant, and cruel. My view on Slytherins is usually much milder (I have a huge soft spot for them) and this was an attempt to paint them in a different light. Have fun

I had never quite got tired of exploring Hogwarts. You take a wrong turn, you stumble and fall through a tapestry-covered hall in the wall - or you simply forget it's Friday, for crissake, and take the usual staircase. And there you are: at the unknown territory. Some of my house-mates would freak out, especially if they were alone. Hufflepuffs aren't skilled at surviving on their own, and that's a fact. I, on the other hand, quite enjoy those little expeditions. Sometimes when I'm bored I go a-searching for a wrong turn to take or a tapestry to fall through.

It was one of _those_ days: days when you get a B on transfiguration test despite all the work, days when your own sister tells you not to talk to her in public because that'd ruin her reputation. What's more, it was raining and I was fourteen. You'll meet people who'll tell you it's the best age and such crap, but don't trust them. Actually, never trust what _they_ say.

Anyway, I was off tunneling, as always when I'm pissed off. The supposedly secret passageway I was exploring at the moment was nothing special. No hidden treasures, no crazy portrets to talk to; not even a booby trap to make my day. The only reason I was still in that corridor was that I wanted to see where it led. The entrance was in the Hufflepuff Gardens (at least at Wednesday afternoons, as far as I knew), but where was the exit? The information might prove useful one day, I thought.

Exiting the passageway didn't cheer me up one bit. That special shade of gray of the cold, unornated stone, the humid air, the megalomaniacal colonades of pillars... I'd have known them anywhere. Dungeons. _Damn_.

You didn't go to those parts of the castle if you weren't absolutely _forced_ to; and if you did, you definitely didn't go alone. I won't say it was dangerous as such - it was Hogwarts, after all, and we were protected - but it could be highly unpleasant, epecially if you were a Puffie and had some muggles in your near family.

The times were hard, and that was a fact; you could never be careful enough. I turned around, deciding it wasn't wise for me to be at that particular place, only to see that the doorway had disappeared. There was a stone wall there instead - as solid, cold and gray as any, and despite my touching and tapping it refused to become anything else but wall. I took out my pocket knife, not sure what I was going to do with it: stick it between the stones or something. _Make_ the bloody passageway open up for me. The idea of walking all the way through the Slytherin-infested dungeons didn't appeal to me in the least. Nothing. The wall stayed a wall. You can't cow inanimate objects into submission. I swore loudly and kicked the bloody wall; it resulted in my toes hurting for two whole days. I should _really_ learn to tune down my temper.

"Who's this girl talking to the wall?"

I turned around, searching for the source of the voice, and saw five largish guys with green and silver quidditch scarfs on. It was the day of Claw-Slyth quiditch match which I had gladly skipped. Most of my house were there to cheer for Ravenclaw. More the reason for me not to be there, especially after what sis had told me. She was a Claw, and I felt no reason to sit there like an idiot, cheering for the bitch and her geeky house-mates.

The guys with the scarfs seemed quite worked up, talking loudly and roughousing each other like boys do. All in all, they took much more space than five persons should. By the havoc they were causing, it seemed as if there were at least a dozen of them instead of five. Damn impressions and tricks of the light. I shuddered.

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time as usual.

"What a game!" one of them was saying. "Crabbe and Goyle should have beaten them bloody!"

"They almost did."

"_Almost_ is the problem here. They should have _done_ it."

"Look, there's a Puffie kid there. A girl."

"We had a better score, and then Malfoy screwed up. What kid?"

"Like he always does."

"A Hufflepuff kid here? What the hell?"

"And that dirty mudblood chick. Briggs."

Now they were talking about my sis, Elen Briggs. Some of us have normal names too (lucky bitch!). Anyway, she was the new seeker for Ravenclaw since Cho Chang finished school. She sort of kicked arse too.

"They should've kept Chang. She was easier to screw up."

"Or screw."

"Good point, Nott."

"_Look!_ Some idiotic kiddie sneaking around our Dungeons."

They finally noticed me, which wasn't a good news at all. I was looking around frantically, but there was no visible way out. My wall was still a wall all right. If I had turned around and run I'd just have gone deeper into Dungeons ant got lost. I didn't know the terrain. They did. My way towards freedom would have to be through the five big (compared to me, at least) quidditch fans who wanted to screw up (or screw) my sister. Not that she'd mind too much, I guess. I gripped my knife harder and tryed to conceal it up my sleeve. _Let it be an ace if the situation gets serious._ You never know with quidditch fans, much less with Slytherins.

"Hey," I said and grinned, since they were already staring at me. They just came closer, surrounding me and making me lean against the wall.

"What have we got here?" said one who had longish brown hair. I knew them all, but I didn't remember their names. They were sixth years, I thought. "A Puffie?" He caught hold of my black and yellow medallion and pulled hard. It stayed in his hand. I did my best not to wince.

"Tell me, what's a Puffie doing here?"

"Spying, obviously," said the one with a big red pimple on his chin.

"I got lost," I said. "Good that I met someone. Is exit this way?"

I sprang and sprinted between them, hoping to catch them unawares, but I managed only a few steps. A hand clutching on my collar stopped me and almost choked me.

"Not that fast," the pimple said, turning me around. I reached barely to his chest, although he was just a year older than me. The one with long hair was still holding my medallion, but now he let it fall to the ground. Had this been a film, he'd have stepped on it. The camera would zoom his heel, and he'd step on it. But this was a Slytherin bloke, and he'd probably never seen a good, cheap muggle film, which severely restrained his drama potential. I mean, drop a medallion on the ground and not crush it with your heel? _Honestly_.

"What's that kid doing here?" said the one who wanted to screw my sister earlier. "Maybe she's really lost or something."

"Crap."

"What _are_ you doing here?"

I was fourteen and a half and I _wasn't_ a kid. Damn it, I was only a year younger than himself. On the other hand, his voice sounded sort of normal; not as psychotic as the rest, at least. I clutched on that shade of normality like a drowning man clutches on a piece of wreck.I hoped it won't turn out to be a shark fin.

"I... yeah. I was looking for Snape. Someone said he was in his quarters. I got lost.."

"She's lying."

"I _bet_ she's been spying."

"Maybe she's telling the truth."

"Come _on_, Nott! She couldn't have got this far without a particular purpose in mind."

"She's a Hufflepuff, for Merlin's sake. She must be stupid like hell or something."

Anger was cooking inside me. I grabbed the hand that was still holding my collar and dug my left thumb into the soft spot on his wrist where his pulse should be if he's a human being. He gasped in surprise and sudden pain and let go of me. I should have run then.

"I am," I said instead. "Stupid like an arse. Like all Hufflepuffs. Which is probably just helped by the fact that I'm a dirty mudblood."

It wasn't courage. It was plain inability to hold anything back and a strange tendency to say the wrongest thing possible only because I know it would piss the other person off. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was stupid.

"Look, it can talk," said the pimple.

One of them grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled. Hard. He continued holding me that way, my face turned up to look at them, my neck and scalp hurting.

"What are we going to do to it, what d'ya think?"

"Kill it."

"No, that would get us expelled. Maim it."

"Torture it until it squeaks."

"Can anyone do any unforgivables? Nott?"

Okay, I knew they didn't quite mean all of it. I mean, it was Hogwarts for crissake, they couldn't get away with such. And yet, the feeling wasn't pleasant, to put it mildly. My left hand frantically searched for my wand, while my right was still clutching onto my pocket knife. I'm righthanded and the search went lamely.

"Looking for this?"

The long haired one pulled my wand out of my right breast pocket. _Damn_.

"Shall I snap it in half?"

"Look, the mudblood wanted to hex us! Let's make it beg for forgiveness."

Grammar is a wonderful thing, but how do you explain the concept of genders to a bunch of bullying Slytherins?

"Let's go," said the one who wanted to screw my sis and whose name seemed to be Nott or something. "This is boring."

"No. Let's make it eat dirt."

"I hear my sis kicked your arse bigtime," I said through my teeth. My scalp was hurting. Bad. "Ravenclaw team sucks, but she still kicked your arse. Elen Briggs."

The wrongest thing in the world to say at that moment. But how their faces went red!

"That bitch!"

"Dirty mudblood bitch!"

Now, my sister is tall, dark-haired, with stunning blue eyes, and she's a great seeker. I'm short, my eyes are boring brown, and I get sick from just thinking about broomsticks. She's a Ravenclaw star. I'm a Puffie outcast. She's smart like hell. I'm 'hardworking', thank you very much. She's popular. I'm _loyal_. So, how could I not hate her? I wished I had a brother instead. Oh how I longed for a brother! And yet...

I turned my head around despite the tearing pain in my scalp and bit into the wrist of the hand that held me. He let go of my hair and I punched him in the stomach with my left. My right hand was still holding the knife firmly, but I didn't think it was that time yet. This was the second moment I could have turned around and run. I didn't.

"No one calls..." I managed before the slap in the face darkened my vision. I picked myself up from the floor, vagely aware that my nose was bleeding, my throat ready for growling. I wouldn't let them hear me cry in pain, I wouldn't!

"The only person that calls my sister a bitch is _me_!" I finished, glaring at them and having a short fantasy about being Bruce Lee. I would raise my hand to my mouth, lick a finger, then look at it. Seeing that my mouth was also bleeding, I'd go berserk. I'd kick their pathetic arses.

But, I wasn't Bruce Lee. I wasn't even Smilla from _Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow_, who could make a guy squeak by twisting his little finger or his nose.

Two of the guys laughed and started towards me. It wouldn't do to wait for them.

I leaped towards one of them and ran right into his fist. Which didn't stop me from connecting the heel of my palm with his nose. I'd heard you could kill a man that way, if you struck from below and made his nose bone enter his brain. Well, I was eager to try. The bloke squealed and I was vaguely aware of something warm and wet on my hand. I hoped it was blood and not snot, but didn't have time to check. I found myself slammed against a wall, and then a slap came. This time I didn't fall, due to the fact that he was holding me up by the front of my robes. Another slap.

"That's enough, Riley," I heard someone say.

"I'm bleeding. Kill the bitch, Riley. Look, I'm _bleeding_!"

_I bleed much more every freakin' month, as every girl does, and it hurts worse, and I don't even whine_, I thought.

Then I kicked the guy in the groin. Or, more accurately, I tried. If I hit the right spot, than he didn't react the way guys in films do when you crush their balls. But I had probably aimed my knee too low. I really need to find me a boyfriend and get some decent anatomy education, or else I'll never know where to kick.

This time it wasn't a slap. It was a punch, right in my stomach, and I bent over and folded on the stone floor. The thing I was thinking about wasn't pain. If you think about pain while you're fighting, you won't make it. I concentrated on the knife in my right hand, on not losing it, and not hurting myself with it while I fell.

I lay on the ground without motion, hoping one of them will get scared that I was really hurt and come to check. Than I would stab him. It was the knife time, finally. I didn't give a damn about the consequences of my actions. I just wanted to _hurt_ someone for this. Badly.

But these weren't normal people; they were Slytherins. The only reason for someone to approach me would be to kick me while I was lying on the ground. I was prepared for that situation too, though. I've red Hemingway and I knew that if you stabbed someone in the loin, they would probably bleed to death before you could get any help. And I wanted blood.

"No," said the voice that had tryed to stop Riley earlier. I opened the one eye that still wasn't swollen and saw it was the one who wanted to screw my sister earlier. The one who honoured me with doubt when the others assumed I was there to spy. Nott. "That's really enough. You'll get into trouble. You already _are_ in trouble for this. If you continue, you'll get expelled."

"You meen, _we_ will, Nott," said another voice with a leer. "We are in this together, aren't we?"

"I'll teach the bitch not to talk," said the pimple and started towards me.

"No you won't," said the one whose name was Nott, and he said it in a low, dangerous voice, stepping in his way. "You'll do nothing of the sort. You will turn around and go back to the common room and forget about this."

His back was turned towards me, but by the motion of his elbow I guessed he had his wand out, pointed at his friends. _Why?_

"Who do you think you _are_, Not?" said the long hair, taking his wand out. His voice was somewhat muffled because he was covering his bleeding nose with a handkerchief. I hoped it was broken.

"You want to fight me?" Not said threateningly, his voice still very low and calm. "Come on. I'm waiting. Only, I can take all four of you one-handed, and you know it. If you walk away now, I'll forget about this. If you don't - you might not wake up tomorrow morning. Think. Hard."

The torches cast shadows on the faces of the four boys whom I could see. Was it fear their faces showed? Four against one, and they are still afraid? They were all staring at Nott, and I had the impression an invisible battle of wills was taking place.

"This is boring," said the long hair finally, looking away. "Let's go."

"Her wand."

Long hair took my wand out of his pocket and cast it to Nott who caught it. Then he turned around and just walked away, not looking back. The others grumbled but followed. Nott didn't move. He followed them with his gaze until they disappeared, hidden by a curve of the corridor.

Then he turned around. I expected him to do things people usually do in those situations. To ask if I was all right. To reach his hand out and help me up. He did nothing, though, just continued looking at me, his face unreadable. I was quite grateful for this. I didn't like being helped up. I was perfectly capable of standing up myself.

Well, with the help of the wall.

"What's that in your hand?" he said, and I was aware my knife was showing.

"Nothing."

"Your nothing seems pretty sharp."

"What would you have done if they didn't go away?"

He shrugged.

"Hexed them. Hurt them. But they wouldn't dare attack me. They are afraid of me."

"I'd choose to call it respect," I said. "Sounds better."

"Elen Briggs really your sister?"

I nodded.

"She's a bloody snob," he said. "I hate her."

"So do I."

"Would you really have cut somebody up with that knife?"

"I don't know. Probably. If I managed. I never tryed."

He just shook his head.

"You're a bloody fool. Let me tell you something. Whatever you were doing here... stay out. Don't come to the Dungeons. If you'd take one more advice, don't go anywhere alone for a time. They'll want revenge. _And_ don't even think about going to a teacher. Cause I'll kill you."

He turned and started walking away.

"Hey," I said. "Thanks for the help. Really. I mean... _Thanks_."

He just looked at me over his shoulder.

"Oh, shut up. I probably won't survive the night in the dorm because of you."

He continued walking.

"Hey," I shouted after him. "What's the big deal? You just need to threaten them in the right way and to cow them into submission. You're good at that. I saw it."

He turned on his heel and stared at me. Long.

"Aren't you supposed to be a Hufflepuff or something?"

"I was one last time I checked, yeah. Why?"

"How would you know about threatening, then? It's not supposed to be your way."

Why did he care, anyway? And yet, he had saved me, and I probably owed him an explenation at least.

"You see..." I said, having absolutely no idea how to continue. Have you ever tried to explain your entire personality, models of behaviour and drives in a single sentence? "No, let me ask you one thing first. Have you ever known a Hufflepuff?"

He rolled his eyes.

"What's there to know? Loyal, hardworking, nice all over. That kind of shit."

"No, I mean _really_ known. Like, talked to them more than 'Get out of my way'?"

"No. Should I?"

"No. I just wanted to say that, if you had done it, you would probably have noticed one thing. Hufflepuffs are herd animals. They are fiercely loyal to you, yes. But you have to be like them. You have to be... well, hardworking, loyal and, yeah, nice all over, basically. They don't accept any differences. I mean, if you are different, there must be something wrong with you. You will fit in or you'll suffer, if you know what I mean."

Nott smiled a tad.

"Sounds more like Slytherins to me. I can't really imagine Puffies actually bullying anyone."

"Not the way you think, no. But they'd be all _nice_ to you, and try to _help_ you fit in. They'd want to _adjust_ you to their perception of how a Hufflepuff is supposed to behave." I was getting angrier and angrier, as always when I think of this. "If you are not all friendly and sappy and kind to everyone, you don't deserve to live. You _must_ be changed. If you don't _want_ their help it means you deserve it even _more_. It's unbearable. I _hate_ them all."

"I can imagine."

"No. No you can't. I mean, I _know_ I'm a sociopath. I just want them to leave me to enjoy my sociopathy in peace and loneliness."

"So... when they are pestering you, you threaten and cow them into submission, like you adviced me to do?" He laughed out.

"Yeah. They are afraid of me. They... dislike me. Very much so, actually. I'd have used 'hate' if we weren't talking about _Hufflepuffs_. But they've learned to leave me alone most of the time."

Nott kept silent for a while, and I thought our conversation was over or something. I was about to excuse myself and walk away, when he spoke again.

"You know..." he said slowly, "I can sort of understand what you are saying. Because that's the way things are in Slytherin, more or less. And... the only way to make them leave you alone is make them afraid of you. I... well, you saw for yourself."

I nodded, and felt my head spin slightly. My face hurt all over, and I was sick from the punch in the stomach. I also thought I must have thumped my haid against the floor or something when I fell. I leaned against the wall and concentrated on staying up. It would be really humiliating to faint after all that had happened.

"Can you walk for yourself?"

"I guess?" I said.

"I'd better accompany you to the entrance hall or something. I wouldn't be surprised if they are waiting for you somewhere along the way."

"Why are you helping me?"

He shrugged.

"Why not?"

"You are a Slytherin and all."

"That's a stereotype, just like the one about Puffies."

"So," I said after we had walked for a time. "So you are an outcast too. I actually thought you were quite popular."

"Not popular, not exactly. But they know it's better not to mess with me. They know it pays better to be friendly towards me and leave me alone. Once you have acquired a status in Slytherin, you can do quite well..."

"It's like that everywhere, I think. What's your name, anyway?"

He turned to look at me, as if I had asked him a terribly personal question or something.

"Why?" he said finally.

"Don't worry, I don't long for an unnecessary intimization or anything. Just... asking."

"All right. Theodor Nott. You?"

"Weirden Briggs."

"_Excuse me?_"

I was used to that sort of reactions, of course. One would be, with a shitty name like mine.

"Weirden," I snapped. "Like 'weird'. Weirden."

"Oh, _Gods_. _Why_?"

This was the answer I had given hundreds of times, and it wasn't surprising that I sounded very tired.

"A consequence of living in a small Welsh willage, with only a half-literate nurse to attend to your mother at giving birth. It wen't okay with Elen - I mean, you'd really have to be a moron to misspell 'Elen'. But my parents wanted their _second_ kid called 'Viridian', of all things. Freaks."

"I thought you said..."

"I did. It _is_ 'Weirden'. The stupid nurse asked Dad what name he wanted on my birth certificate, and he said Viridian. The nurse wrote 'Weirden'. I mean, we didn't even find out until I started at the local school."

"So... you are... _muggle-born_?"

It was obvious he wasn't used to saying 'muggle-born'. In Slytherin language, that was 'mudblood'.

"Halfblood," I said. "Mum's a Horton from Sommerset."

"Halfblood," he said. "_Gods_."

"You have a problem with that?"

He stopped to look at me.

"Of course. Of course I do. That's just disgusting. I mean, a pureblood witch having... _ew_."

"Would you spare me your opinion on the subject?"

"You _asked_ for my opinion."

"It was more of a rhetorical question. How comes you fancy Elen if you mind our bloodline anyway?"

"Who said I fancied Elen? I said I hated her. She's such a..."

"You said you wanted to screw her. I heard you."

"_That's_ got nothing to do with fancying."

"I bet you asked her out. I bet she refused."

"She _told_ you about it?"

"No. But I'll take it as an affirmative."

"You know, " he said. "If you were _my_ housemate, I'd hate you too."

"You at least have the courage to say that to my face."

"Bruised and disfigured as it is, yeah."

"I didn't walk into a door, you know."

"Speaking of which," he said, "I think you broke Berkley's nose."

"Too bad. I was actually trying to kill him. You know, if you hit somebody's nose with the heel of your palm, his nose bone will..."

"I _know_. You are sick, Briggs."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"As if you wouldn't want to do the same. If someone attacked you that way, I mean."

"If _I_ ran into a bunch of guys, I wouldn't _provoke_ like you did. I mean, are you stupid or what?"

"Don't forget I'm a Puffie."

"I'm not buying that crap. Why did you do it?"

I felt the dizziness again and stopped for a moment, leaning on the wall, breathing deeply. He made as if to reach for me, and then drew his hand back. I had an impression that the guy had serious issues when it came to touching people.

"Why would I tell you?" I said, feeling a bit better.

"Because I bloody saved your arse."

"And I'm grateful for it. More interesting question is why you helped me."

"I asked you first."

"All right. Look, it's... it's difficult to explain, all right."

"You acted like a bloody Gryffindor."

"No. They're supposed to be curageous. I'm not. I was just... angry. Very very angry."

"You should learn to control your anger then, Briggs. If you can't, you should learn how to fight properly. Riley and the gang were surprised, that's why you lasted as long as you did. _I_ could have taken you in two seconds."

Had I been Elen, I'd have looked at him with my stunning blue eyes, batted my eyelashes, and said something on the lines with 'Will you teach me how to fight?' But I wasn't Elen, obviously.

"One-handed," I said. "I've heard you boasting before."

"Well, it's true. And your knife is worth nothing if you don't know how to use it."

"Your turn, Nott."

"Excuse me?"

"I told you why I fought... _tried_ to fight your mates. Now you tell me why you helped me."

He chuckled.

"Maybe because you're Elen Briggs's sister. Maybe I hoped you'd say a kind word for me."

"I'm not buying that for one moment."

"Oh, all right. To put it simply... I've always had a soft spot for people who dare stand up to Riley and the gang. No matter the house... or anything."

"You know," I said, "I think you're kind of cool."

Nott stopped, threw his head back, and laughed like hell.

"You're so stupid," he said finally, but didn't sound all that unfriendly. "Look, we're there. Entrance Hall. You'd better go before someone sees us together."

"Oh," I said, "That would ruin your reputation, right? Maybe you _should_ date Elen, you know. You two kinda deserve each other."

"Now that wasn't very nice."

"Oh. Hell. You can go tell on me to my housemates."

"I'd better go face the dormatory inferno now. And it's all your fault, Briggs."

"Sorry. You'll handle it, though. Just threaten and be dangerous. They won't dare come near."

He smiled, and I made my big mistake. I clapped him on the upper hand. In a friendly way. Maybe there _was_ a reason I had ended up in Hufflepuff, after all.

Nott glared at the spot where I had touched him, all friendly cynism suddenly having disappeared from his eyes. Than he shifted his gaze to my face, regarding me as if I was some kind of leper. His eyes made me want to squirm.

"_Don't you do that **ever** again, mudblood._"

It was the same low voice he had used on Riley and the mates previously. Than he turned and walked away.

"Hey, Nott," I yelled after him. "Take a good shower. Soap should make my contagious touch harmless. If not, you can always use alcohol. Rub it really hard and it'll go away."

I felt sort of hurt, though, although I knew that was very stupid of me. That's what you get when you try to be nice to a Slytherin. Oh, to hell with that. That's what you get when you try to be nice to _anyone_.

**Author notes:** Next chapter is due soon. BTW, this isn't going to be a many-chaptered story (I see two more chapters at the moment).

Please please review. I'm an unexperienced writer, and am not a native English speaker, so your comments on my English as well as the story itself would be very much appreciated.

And now I've gone all formal and stuff. Darn ;)


	2. Nott

As the next part of the story took place, I wasn't present. Therefore I have to rely on the account I got later. Don't expect me to be objective and unbiased, I can leave that to Elen.

After having parted with me (not exactly on friendly terms, as you may remember), Nott decided that going right to the common room wouldn't be a good idea, not particularly. Riley and the gang were probably there, telling and retelling the previous encounter, and Nott didn't really care to join them. Of course, he knew there would be talk about the event in the next 37 days probably, and he couldn't escape it. He'd probably have to face different Slytherins who'd try to explain to him a thing or two about house loyalty - and the explaining would involve a few or not-so-few hexes, depending on the person. That didn't worry him too much: he was the undefeated champion of the unofficial Slytherin dueling club. What he didn't look forward to was _talk_.

What would be the smartest attitude for him? Apologizing was out of question, of course. He'd probably have to play cool, arrogant and dignified, as usual. Much good it did to him too... Anyway, he decided he'd leave it for later, so he turned around and started for the library. Burying himself in books did for him what tunneling does for me: it clears his mind, helps him calm down and forget, at least for the moment.

He also hoped to find Zabini - the closest thing he had to a best mate in Slytherin. As you might already know, the Slyths aren't what I'd call best friend material. Nott and Zabini had spent time together since the first year because the only alternative was hanging out with Malfoy and the gang. And who'd want to do that, I'm asking you?

As far as I understand, Zabini is a big-time nerd. But really. Even my sis doesn't spend as much time studying, I bet. He's one of the guys you don't even notice until they come out of school with the best grades in the whole year or something... However, this time Zabini wasn't in the library, and although it seemed a bit strange to Nott, he didn't give it a second thought. He stayed there the whole afternoon reading about dragons (they are a pet topic of his), and in the end Madam Pince had to practically drag him out in order to close the library.

Not everyone has my knowledge of the secret passages through Hogwarts. I bet there are at least three ways to Slytherin dormitories, not that I ever cared to look for those. However, the only way Nott knew about was going right through the common room, which he tipped was still full of butterbeer, smoke, and sixth and seventh years discussing _him_, most probably.

"Booooo," someone howled, as a blood covered silhouette hovered in the shadows, grinning in its best bloodcurdling manner.

Nott grinned back.

"Oh. Baron. Don't waste the sinister atmosphere, it's only me."

Bloody Baron looked disappointed for a moment, but let it go.

"The Nott child? How have you been? Is your father well?"

"Still in Azkaban," Nott said coolly, rolling his eyes in secret. It seems Bloody Baron used to ask this particular question quite often. "You heard we lost in quidditch?"

"I still fail to see the point of that over-estimated game, I must admit. But having Slytherin loose is not a good sight."

"No. But you shouldn't really worry about it any more...I've stopped." Nott has never quite understood how Baron succeeded in _not_ picking up any teenager slang after so many years (or, more likely, centuries) spent with adolescents. "Why did you try to scare me anyway?"

"I thought it was someone else?"

"Who? Having rows with Snape again, I hear?"

"Yes. Young Severus and I have had a dispute one more time... But it's none of the students' business. No. I was looking for a mudblood child that had possibly lost its way in these dungeons of mine."

"So - you were trying to find her and scare her to death?" Nott grinned quizzically.

"More or less, my friend, more or less... But you are distracting me."

"Let me guess, Baron. Someone _asked_ you to do it, didn't they? Who, now? Malfoy? Pucey? Riley?"

"Your last guess might be close to the truth."

"Not that I'm surprised. What happened, anyway?"

"Have you not heard?"

"I've spent the better part of my day catnapping in the library, actually." It was Nott's way. He didn't lie as such. The truth he told simply wasn't what you actually heard.

"It seems some little abomination had had a dispute with some of our boys, but escaped them somehow. I don't have the details. But I was supposed to look for her. Appalling little spy."

_So they haven't mentioned **me**_, Nott thought. That probably meant they were either too afraid of him to spread the news (but that would be too much to hope for), or that they had given a half truth to Baron. The second option seemed more likely, as well as like quite a smart move. Baron's friendliness to everyone surnamed Nott as well as to Theodore Nott Jr. in particular was a well-known fact in Slytherin. Having this in mind, Riley probably couldn't be sure about the ghost's reaction - although, Nott pondered, he probably wouldn't have been disappointed.

Now, Nott tells me that, and I quote: "Baron isn't such a bad bloke when you get to know him." You should have in mind that this was said by Theodore Nott, the guy capable of saying 'Look, there's an okay sunset out there, if you care for that kind of crap' when he actually means 'What a beautiful sunset!'. So, translated to the language of us, normal people (and don't you look at _me_ that way!), it probably means that Baron used to be one of the people closest to him during the school years. If I fail to see how this is possible (after all, who'd like to be friends with a scary, old-fashioned ghost of a murderer? Who except a Slytherin, that is?) that is just my problem.

"Agreed," Nott answered and thought he could do with a cigarette. "Have you been through the common room lately? What's going on?"

"The resentment party is still going on, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I see. We are _not_ celebrating the fact that we _didn't_ win."

"Your friend Riley said it would be a pity if all that wonderful butterbeer went to waste."

"My friend Riley can stick all the butterbeer up his arse, together with his wand and Blaise's glasses. Know what, Baron? I sometimes wish I was just your average teenager. I don't even have _pimples_, for Gods' sake. Because I found a preventive charm in the restricted section _ages_ ago."

"You are paying the price for brilliance, my friend."

"I'm sometimes sick to death of people here, Baron. Well, not you, obviously, and Blaise is rather okay... But the rest... I wish I could bang their heads together until they start either to bleed or actually _think_."

"We've had this talk before, if I recall well. Or was it your father?"

"No. It was me. Dad probably just wanted to kill everyone or something. And yeah, I know I'm repeating myself, but I just feel... rotten, that's all. Not that I want to bother you with that."

"If you let the world affect you, my friend, you might become like me. Or, for that matter, your father. And you don't want to pay the price, trust me. That's all I'll say for now."

"I'd better go now, Baron... Thanks for listening to all this crap. Will be seeing you around. I'm tired like hell. This was a... bad day."

"Sleep well and dream of gothic castles, Nott," the ghost murmured. "Because... I can't."

Before I continue with the story, I need to explain some of the background details, i.e. here are some information on the social life in Slytherin.

I've already said that, before meeting Nott and talking to him, I had thought him quite a popular student. I hadn't even been sure if he was sixth or seventh year (I was fifth) because he was friends with guys from both years. Of course, Nott probably wouldn't approve of my using the word 'friends' here. He'd explain it to you very eloquently: that it isn't friendship, more like a business partnership and such. How you can tune down your likes and dislikes in order to _be_ with people. How you can't quite survive on your own, not in Slytherin. You might call Nott a social chameleon, really - but not to his face.

To his credit, he had never pretended he was actually _close_ with any of the guys. All of them new - one way or another - that it wasn't a friendship they had. I'd bet some of the guys actually _wanted_ Nott, not only for an ally, but for a pal too. He completely failed to see it, though - or so he claims. On the other hand, he also claims none of them had ever opened up to him - and I know for sure Blaise did. I mean, Luna told me and all.

Nott is a strange guy, that's all I can say. Why he does or doesn't say something is quite incomprehensible to me. It is also incomprehensible why would you hang around with a bunch of guys for six or seven years if you dislike them completely. And, more to the point, how can you hang with someone _constantly_ for seven years without getting attached to them. But there's no point in pondering. You and I will probably never find out the truth.

Back to the story. The names of Nott's 'friends', if you chose to use that lousy term, are as follows: Blaise Zabini and Berkley Moon (who were both in seventh year, just like Nott), and Pete Derek, Jerome Riley, and Simon Ostrac (who were all in the sixth year). Berkley Moon is the one whose nose I had broken, and Riley is their ringleader, as far as I understand. Derek and Ostrac are typical cronies, I think, while Blaise isn't really a part of the gang. They push him around and he lets them. If there weren't for Nott to protect him, Blaise would have probably ended school with a serious neurosis or something.

Now, besides from the Riley-Nott gang, there is also Malfoy's gang, but you surely know about _them_. The two cliques politely ignore each other most of the time, although cold war isn't all that unusual state for them either. There are, of course, the girls too: Parkinson, Greengrass, Davis, that little Pucey bitch and the rest. But, as Nott nicely put it, _the girls are not important_.

Nott threw his hair back, stiffened his chin, lit a cigarette, and entered the common room in a brisk step. Just like he had supposed, it was smoggy, lit up by four dimmed lamps - one in each corner. The atmosphere was - well, drunken is probably the best word. He could see Tracey Davis's guitar playing by itself on the sofa, while Tracey threw up beside it. The largest crowd was in the very middle of the room. Crabbe was dancing with Millicent Bullstrode (that terrible halfblood, right?), and the view wasn't something you'd like to see before you went to sleep. Dreaming of gothic castles would be far better than this. The slow, oxen dance would have caused much more laughter had the crowd been at least half-sober. Around them, some other people were dancing.

In the late years Slytherin parties had mostly ended with one or another kind of aggression. Nott didn't want to be the first victim of it tonight, and the only way to avoid it would be to become invisible. Only, blending in with Slytherins isn't like blending in at any other place on earth. If you try to look as small and unimportant as possible, if you stick to the wall and walk the shadows... Well, the only sure thing is that you'll be noticed and picked on. Oh no, this wasn't the way to disappear in Slytherin.

"Have someone brought firewhiskey, or are we drinking air?"

Daphne Greengrass turned around, glanced at Nott uninterested and shrugged.

"I think Bernice has our bottle at the moment."

Bernice Pucey, according to Nott, is a bit slutty, but amusing. I, personally, hate her quite a bit, but that isn't so strange for me.

"Bernice, my love!" Nott shouted from the top of his lungs. "Bernice! You are my best friend! Give me a sip of whiskey!"

He fell onto his knees and howled.

No one gave him a second look, as this same thing, with small variations, was taking place on at least three other places in the room. Having taken a sip or two of whiskey, smoked three more cigarettes, danced with Tracey Davis and Astarta Higgs (at the same time), and sang a duet with Gregory Goyle of all people, Nott slipped out of the common room and began to breathe.

The only way to blend in with Slytherins is to fight for the spotlight. Everyone does that. When people are drunk, they probably won't even recognize your face from the dozen other faces that are trying to attract attention at the moment. If you try to disappear, you'll suffer. If you make a fool of yourself, you'll just be considered drunk and no one will actually notice you.

"I thought you'd come, sooner or later."

Nott's hand was holding his wand inside his pocket, firmly but with a relaxed wrist. Everything by the book. He raised his eyes and measured the group that was obviously waiting for him. Moon had obviously invited the sixth years into the seventh years' dormitory, or was pressed to do so, at least. It was possible because Malfoy's gang was still at the party.

_I should have noticed Riley wasn't there_, Nott thought, but discarded the thought immediately and began developing a new strategy. He's always developing half a dozen strategies in his head.

"Pretty logical, don't you think?" he said and smirked. "Since I sleep here and all that crap."

"We need to have a serious talk with you, Theo."

Riley's voice was self-assured and complacent, but the mock-friendliness of his words was in contrast with his eyes that looked tired. They flicked towards Berkley Moon for a second, probably looking for support.

"You can stick your talk up your arse, Riley, together with Blaise's glasses."

Ostrac laughed out. It was an old in-joke of theirs, and, as such, it was calculated to soften the atmosphere. The fact was, Nott didn't like fighting with his friends... (well, allies, whatever...). Not that he cared, of course. Not that he gave a damn. It was inconvenient, yes, but they could all go screw themselves with their wands. Why would it be Nott's business at all? That's what he said, at least. Do you believe him?

"Would you sit down, please?"

Riley's voice was cool and business-like, as he lit a cigarette (_Blaise is going to hate it_, Nott thought, _He hates it when someone smokes in the dorm_). Moon was already walking towards him, his hands in his pockets in a make-believe tranquility. He had always been the biggest of them, and fighting was his duty if it came to physical contact. Nott, of course, knew they weren't going to beat him up or anything - they weren't such fools. No, Berkley was there just for the effect. Riley was the judge, of course. Berkley was the guard. Ostrac and Derek were supposed to be jury, probably. And Nott, the accused... The accused didn't have right to an attorney.

_Only_, _I won't let them play court with me. The strategy is old and it's a classic, but it won't work with me. I've used it too many times myself to fall for the trick_.

If you are not sure what to do in a sticky situation, it is sometimes best to do the unexpected. It would be logical, Nott thought, to walk up to Riley and face him. Therefore he decided against it.

"Hey," he said to Ostrac, walking right past Riley and Moon as if the boys weren't there at all. First of all, Simon Ostrac looked like the friendliest face at the moment. Second, he was the _least_ of a leadership character in the group. Phlegmatic and serene as he was, he was usually content just watching, calculating, and letting the others decide. "Ostrac. Look, I'm absolutely willing to sign the truce until morning and then you guys can crucify me - or _try_." He grinned. "At your own risk, of course. But at the moment, I'm too tired for such."

Not that it wasn't true, of course. He could feel the soreness of his eyes, as a consequence of too much reading as well as too much smoke at the Slytherin non-celebration. But, frankly, his exhaustion was more mental than physical. A bad day... And playing games with the Riley's gang isn't the best pastime when all you want to do is sit alone and think.

Nott's words had a momentary effect: Riley look stunned, Moon furrowed his eyebrows, obviously rewinding Nott's words in his head. They had expected him to be cool, arrogant and to threaten them, as he usually did. What looked like a certain amount of frankness from his side puzzled them for a moment, as well as the fact that he had chosen to speak to Ostrac, of all people. The other boy just blinked at him, and then turned his gaze to Riley.

_Oh well_, Nott thought, _some of us never learn meaning of the word integrity_.

Pete Derek sat right beside Ostrac, scratching his back with his wand and not looking in the least surprised. Derek was usually the voice of reason among them, as well as a peacemaker. When he dared speak up, that is. Nott describes him as an incomparable coward, among other things.

"If I may say something," Derek stammered, and flicked his eyes towards Riley. "Looks like a good idea to me. I mean, don't get me wrong, but it's late, and... and... and all that, and... Well, perhaps it _would_ be better to just leave it for now. We are all tired and angry and... well, not fit to talk, and..."

"Oh, shut up."

That was Moon.

"No, no," Riley said and leaned back on Blaise's bed. "Let's hear what he's got to say. Why not? It's always inspiring to hear Pete speak. With his wisdom and eloquence and all."

Had Derek not interfered, the conversation might have turned in a different direction. Now they were falling in their stereotypical roles again, all of them, and the surprise Nott had counted on had worn off too shortly. Now Pete was cowed again, Riley was sarcastic to death - and back in control, and Ostrac... well, he was being _Ostrac_ and therefore monosyllabic.

"You want to talk?" said Nott exasperatedly, still addressing Ostrac. "Fine. Let's."

He took his wand out slowly, which was followed by everyone gripping their own wands instantly and pointing them at him. Nott just arched an eyebrow, however, and put his wand on Blaise's _nahtkasn_, or however the word was pronounced in German. Blaise's mother was German, and for some reason the boy thought it cool to drop a German word here and there during a conversation. Only, Blaise was out, and Nott couldn't be happier about it. Blaise really didn't need to take part in this.

"I've put my wand down," he stated. "Won't you do the same?"

Riley looked at him in incomprehension for a moment, and Ostrac was obviously scanning the situation to see where the weight lay in the current power game.

"Why in seven hells would we do that?"

That was Moon, paranoid as always.

"You wanted to talk. So _let's_," Nott said. "I don't think we've done it ever before anyway."

Ostrac put his wand down, but not too far from his reach.

"Oh very well." Riley did the same, and the others followed. "So..."

"A moment," Nott said, pointedly turning his back to the group and looking for something in his trunk. The gang weren't used to Nott letting go of his wand, much less turning his back, unguarded and unprotected. Especially in the situation like this.

Surprise, surprise...

"Here," he said and took a sip from a largish vial in his hand. Then he passed it to Ostrac.

The boy studied the label for a moment.

"Anti-cough potion?"

"It's got almost 20 of alcohol in it. And no, it's not a poison."

_To hell with Blaise_, Nott thought and lit a cigarette. _I'll open the window afterwards_.

Ostrac passed the vial to Derek, who passed it to Riley after taking a few sips.

"So" Nott said and finally sat down on his bed, aware that he had taken control. "Here's what I wanted to tell you..."

Than began what Nott referred to as 'dormitory inferno'. For the first time in six or seven years, he tried to explain some things to them. Some of his views on the world. Some of his thoughts, opinions, judgment. His ethical code.

For their part, they talked about other things. Betrayal. House loyalty. Slytherin pride. Dirty little mudbloods. They sat there, drank the anti-cough potion, chain smoked, and - talked.

All the while, Nott had the impression they were speaking different languages.

In the end, he just stood up, took his wand, and slowly pointed it at Riley.

"There's no point," he said coolly. "We can not reach an understanding, obviously. Just as well. You guys stay away from me in the future, and I'll stay away from you. But..." and he made a significant pause, "if you _ever_ try to hex me or otherwise harm me behind my back, you'll suffer. Remember Teddy Greengrass, Riley? He used to dorm with you in the first year. He messed with me, remember? Where is he now? Not at Hogwarts, surely. And I'm not threatening you with expulsion. I'm threatening you with something much worse. If you _ever_ happen to think of taking any kind of vengeance on me, think again. Because, I'll track you down - after years, if need be - and you'll regret it. I may end up in Azkaban like Dad did, but you'll lose your balls. So... You know me. Don't mess with me."

Than he turned around and started spinning the wards around his bed. The charms he used, according to his words, were so advanced that only the best Aurors might break them and stay unharmed. Maybe. Of course, we all know how Nott can be boisterous when it comes to his abilities, and you can reduce what he says by half. Yet, I reckon those wards were far too advanced for any average Hogwarts student to break anyway. He could sleep in peace.

The thing was, he couldn't sleep. Oh, it wasn't the fact that he had just literally broken up with the 90 of his friends, that the six years spent together were frittered away. That the first people he had _ever_ tried to actually _talk_ to - openly and honestly - didn't hear a word of what he said, much less understood. Oh no, of course that wasn't why he couldn't fall asleep.

He lay awake, thinking. Thinking of his Dad, of Riley, of Blaise Zabini. Of the abomination of halfbloods. Of my sister, Elen Briggs, who had never been able to say anything else but giggle and flirt - or talk about Charms and History of Magic. And he thought about me. He never cared to tell me _what_ exactly he thought, though.

However much he refused to admit it, his worry for Blaise was escalating too. The guy hadn't been in the library, and hadn't been there _the whole afternoon_. He hadn't been at the non-party either, he never was. And, a couple of hours after midnight, he still wasn't in his bed. It wasn't like Blaise, it wasn't like him at all. Even Malfoy and the gang were rolling in their drunken sleep already, and Blaise still hadn't come.

"_Blaise?_" he whispered hoarsely, as he heard the door open slowly. The first morning light was creeping in through the window already, as everyone had forgotten about the curtains. The dark-haired boy sneaked into the dorm, his gaze even more clueless than usually, but, strangely, his step was light, his back straight, and he didn't even turn around to see if someone was watching him. Highly unusual. He threw himself onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, grinning widely all the while.

"Blaise?"

"I've lost my glasses again," the boy whispered. "And know what, Theo? I don't give a damn!"

"Where in seven hells have you been? I was..." He stopped himself before he could say 'worried'.

"You can't believe it! I mean... it's so _terrific_."

"What is?"

"_She _is."

"You've been _flying_ around in the small hours of the night? I've been lying here wondering where the_ feck_ you were, and you've been _flying_"

When Blaise said _She_ (with a capital), he was usually referring to his broomstick.

"I've been having the best time of my life, Theo. She is the most wonderful person I have ever known. How have I failed to notice her before? I can't even _explain_ it to myself... Theo? Have you ever met anyone who was _exactly_ like you? I mean, in every single aspect! Every opinion, every view... She knows what I think before I even _say_ it!"

A girl? _Blaise_ of all people had found a _girl_?

"Have you ever experienced something like this, Theo?"

"Er... no."

Nott was a bit sore and jealous, although he'd never let it show. Was _Blaise_ the first of them to shag? Not him, but _Blaise_? And now he didn't even _listen _to him, Nott.

"Who is she? I hope she's not a mudblood or something, Blaise?"

"Oh, I don't know. I never asked. I don't _give a damn!_ For the first time in my life, I don't give a damn, and it's a terrific feeling, Theo. It's _her._"

Nott attempted to make himself be happy for Blaise, but didn't do quite well. He was too much burdened with his own worries, thoughts, feelings. And - he felt he needed to talk. Until then, he had been perfectly able to deal with all his problems himself. He had never asked for help or support. And now, suddenly, he just wanted to talk a little bit.

"Will you be seeing her tomorrow?"

"I'll be seeing her every day of the rest of my life. I'm going to _merry_ her, Theo. I know I will."

Oh, _Gods_.

'Oh. Right. Fine. Look, I..." and then Nott stopped. It wouldn't do to bother Blaise with his own worries now, when the guy was like this. He hadn't even noticed that someone'd been smoking in the dorm. Oh, Nott's stomach was a knot all right, he wanted to jump out of his skin, leave it behind, and run like that through the corridors. But how to explain this to Blaise?

"I've had a bad day. Bad _bad_ day, Blaise. I've never thought I'd say this, but I don't know if I want to get up tomorrow. Or _ever_. I..."

"Oh, I don't _care_, Theo. Sorry, but I can't think about that now. I want to... I want it to be tomorrow already!"

"And _I_ wish tomorrow would never come," Nott muttered, and turned around, forcing himself to close his eyes. He didn't dream of gothic castles.


	3. Back to Weirden

**Disclaimer: **Hp stuff belongs to JKR, obviously. The swordfish reference is a homage to Terry Pratchett and his wonderful 'Night Watch', while 'lies before breakfast' rightfully belong to J. D. Salinger and his 'Franny Zooey'.  
**Author notes:** I want to thank my lovely Huffie betta, Joanna/Hedgehog, who hunted up all my grammar mistakes, added the dreadful definite articles where needed, and MADE me write Luna with more care. And much more :)

I don't envy the Ravenclaws their intelligence, researching skills or knowledge. I don't envy them their renown as future scientists. What I _do_ envy them are single rooms. The bastards have their own rooms, with _one_ bed inside, and their own working space. It's not that I mind sharing. What bothers me much more is _being shared with_. Why on Earth do I need to see the hairy legs of Ellie Ribentrop show under her too-short nightgown; why, oh _why_ do I have to know what kind of knickers Felicity Hartwell wears? Or when the other girls get their periods?

I don't think Hufflepuffs will ever grasp the concept of privacy.

Besides, if I lived in a single room, I wouldn't have to hide my teddy bears in a trunk in order to avoid pitiful looks or 'Oh, how cute that is!' comments. Yes, I do possess two or three teddy bears. No, I don't hide dynamite inside. So?

The worst time of day in a Puffie dormitory is probably morning or night. During the day the dorm tends to be pretty deserted, since everybody is in the common room or wherever they go to have their friendly chats and games of Exploding Snap. Then you can find some privacy in the dorms. But in the evening everyone is preparing for bed, whispering, sharing secrets, and, all in all, engaging in all kinds of sociable and utterly scary activities of the sort.

Mornings are even worse, if you ask me. You get up, still dazed from sleep and overall pissed off because you had to get up in the first place - and the first thing you have to face is a cheerful 'Good morning'. No matter that you have ignored these people for years, no matter that you've done your best to make _them_ ignore _you_ in return - they'll still wish you a cheerful good morning, for chrissake.

The day after my infamous encounter with the Nott-Riley gang was Saturday, and, what's more, it was the first Hogsmeade weekend that year. I had overslept on purpose, hoping my loyal, hardworking and whatnot dorm mates (I usually call them _doormats_, actually) would already be up and going (and, first of all, _absent_) when I got up.

"Weirden? Hey, Weirden? What _happened_ to you?"

I had difficulties opening my eyes, as I usually do before I pour some coffee into my system. However, feeling my way to the washbasin and stumbling over my trunk, I felt there was something more to the feeling than usual. My left eye felt especially difficult to control. Squinting into the mirror, I saw it was nicely swollen, which could be more or less applied to the whole left side of my face as well. A pretty purplish-yellow bruise had formed on the side of my jaw.

I turned to see Felicity Hartwell look at me with concern (completely unwanted and unwelcome, of course) as she brushed her thin, blond hair. It was too early in the day for me to think of an utilizable excuse.

"A drunken brawl," I peeped, then coughed. Some warm, strong coffee was what I needed at the moment, not an inquisitive roommate. "A drunken brawl," I repeated, this time in a more or less normal voice. "There was this drinking contest at the _Hog's Head_ last night, you see." I splashed my face with cold water and started coming to my senses. "Terry Boot and I were the last ones standing, as usual, and my sister was the judge. I wish she had been fair at least, if not partial to me, but..." I was splashing my face again, feeling more awake with every minute. "You see, I think she fancies Terry Boot, actually. Anyway, she judged in his favour and I couldn't stand for it, of course, and I started swearing quite nastily at her... And then Lenny Stableforth jumped to her defence - you know Lenny, don't you? Well, he yelled at me, and I leapt at him, and then Dean Thomas joined for some reason... And I can't remember clearly what happened next, but... Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was lying in this ditch feeling as if the Knight Bus had run me over about three times, and a stray was licking my face, and..."

It's amazing what crap I can come up with when I'm in a bad mood, but at least it had made me fully awake. Still, I prefer coffee to cold water when it comes to waking up.

"Oh, _Weirden_." By the time I had finished, Felicity was standing right next to me, staring at my honourable wounds and touching my jaw bruise with the tip of her fingers. Some people never learn. Hadn't I known for sure that she liked boys (you collect all sorts of useless information when you lie sleepless for nights), I'd have probably got extremely paranoid.

"Really, what happened? Did someone pick on you? We should go to Professor Sprout!"

We? _We?_ When on Earth have I done something together with Felicity Hartwell? Why should I start now and what right did she have to assume I would want to?

"No."

I turned away and tried to find two clean socks that matched, which wasn't an easy task. You would think a nice, snappish reply would be enough to drive any helpful soul away.

"But, if someone did this to you, we sure have to inform the teachers!"

Her voice was becoming more insistent by the second.

"Look, " I said, looking right into her eyes, as much as I was capable of such a task with my left eye practically closed. "The matter is private. I don't want anyone interfering. Stop prying, all right? No trespassing. Access denied. Out of function. All that crap. Nice day today. Why don't you go find your little friends and run off to Hogsmeade to buy some awful, sugary lollies?"

Felicity's eyes had hardened a bit, and she squared her shoulders. One day she might grow up to be a teacher, and children would refer to her as 'strict, but fair'. I hate the phrase with all my heart.

"You might think this concerns only yourself, Weirden," she said. "But has it occurred to you that it isn't so? If someone bullied you, he has to be caught and disciplined. So that this won't happen to other students as well."

Oh, she did have a point there - or at least you might think so if you are an easygoing, optimistic bastard. A realist like myself might tell you that the teachers, and especially the headmaster, sure knew what was going on in their school. I wasn't the first one to be bullied, dammit, although the consequences usually weren't this obvious. I wouldn't be the last one either. For some reason, that behaviour was apparently tolerated. Everybody was either too cowardly or too uninterested to stop it, or both.

Besides, telling on the Slytherins would have equalled signing my own death warrant.

On the other hand, how do you explain something like this to Felicity Hartwell? If her kid was some day kidnapped and if the kidnappers threatened to kill the kid if she informed the police, I bet the first thing she'd do would be to call the police. _Some_ people believe in handling their own problems. Some_ other_ people, on the contrary, are suckers that believe in state, institutions and such.

"Felicity, my friend," I said in my best reasonable voice, trying to drop in a hint of a threat. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that I was in my undergarments, though. "I don't want to go into details. If I did, I'd have to kill you afterwards and feed the body to the newts. Anyway, what happened was: I picked a fight. My bad. I should have known better and all that crap, but I'm impulsive, emotional, prone to anger, and similar things you can read in the _Teenage Witch_ personality tests. Anyway, I picked the bloody fight, I got beaten up. End of story. Aggressive behaviour is, for some reason, frowned upon in some circles. If you inform the teachers, I'll probably get expelled. Get it?"

"Oh," she said intelligently. And then, "_Oh_."

Exploiting the Puffie loyalty and protectiveness isn't a very nice thing to do, but, then again, I've never said I was a very nice person. At least I could be sure of one thing: Felicity wouldn't tell if it meant my expulsion and such. Even if she didn't agree with what I had done.

She left the room soon afterwards and left me on my own to finish finding clean clothes and getting dressed. The dorm was big, airy and well-lit, and I hated its guts. Sitting alone in there felt like, well, sitting alone at a football stadium. I mean, you don't _mind_ being alone or anything, but somehow you are aware that the state is unnatural, and that there should be more people there (even if they are smelly or wave fan scarves or something).

Of course I didn't want to talk to Felicity Hartwell , not _her_ of all people, but when she actually left, I felt somehow... cheated. And I hated myself for the feeling. I opened my trunk (having unlocked all four locks for the fifth time that morning), took out my favourite teddy, and put it back instantly, deciding it was a weakling's behaviour.

This did not stop me from stuffing it into my bag when the cynical side of me wasn't looking.

The more pressing matter was - my face. The well-known fact is that you can't heal your own wounds, just like you can't take yourself by the hair and lift yourself into the air. It just doesn't work, that's a fact. Going to the hospital wing was, of course, out of the question - it would be impossible to avoid the Spanish Inquisition disguised behind the motherly behaviour of Madam Pomfrey. I could, of course, hide till Monday and hope the bruises would fade in the meantime, but this hope was utterly unrealistic, really...

In the end I stole some of Felicity's powder, which helped just a tad and started off to find some breakfast, and, more importantly, lots of coffee.

"Briggs. What _on Earth_ has happened to you?"

With my luck, I had to run into Snape, of all people. The Great Hall was otherwise mostly deserted, and there weren't any other teachers. Snape was, it seemed, a late sleeper like myself. Not that I had any sort of kindred-souls feeling for him because of the fact.

"Oh, sir..." I sighed deeply, preparing to lie my arse off. "I've been auto destructive again. This depression of my really sucks, pardon my language, and... Well, to put it mildly, I'm having suicidal thoughts on a regular basis and... I just can't seem to find a purpose in this world, if you know what I mean. A kind of deeper _meaning_. It all seems so bleak and unimportant and... and..." I sniffed.

Pouring your tender heart to Snape is probably the best way to get rid of him.

"Then I suggest you go find yourself a therapist, miss." Irony in his voice was unmistakable, as he sneered at me. More fool me, for thinking I could trick Snape that easily. "Ten points from Hufflepuff for lying before breakfast. You don't need a therapist, you need an alarm clock. Now, the truth."

Only the truth was the only thing I couldn't tell, especially not to him. Now I had to think of a better lie - a tale that would justify not only my bruises, but also the previous fib of mine.

"Well?"

I did my best to look embarrassed.

"Actually it was a broomstick accident," I muttered. "I lost control even before I was mounted properly."

I was still studying the floor and intentionally twisting the end of my robe. Although I couldn't see Snape's face, I guess he was rolling his eyes or some such. I know I would have, had the situation been reversed. On the other hand, Snape had been teaching me for five years and, although he never paid much attention to Puffies, he could probably tell that my behaviour at the moment wasn't very Weirden-like. Too humble and meek, for one.

"Yes, I _know_ we get flying lessons in our first year, sir," I said, raising my head and looking straight at him, mentally sacrificing another ten points for talking back. Only, I figured, he might let me go if I irritate him enough and waste enough of his precious time. "But it was Elen's broom, and she had charmed it, darn it, and I had taken it without her permission, and so-."

"Five points for rudeness, Briggs. Now stop bothering me."

Somewhat less than an hour had passed since my encounter with Snape. I was lingering in front of the portrait of the Senile Alchemist and hoped one of the Ravenclaws would show up and be absentminded or good-natured enough to let me in. Understandably, I didn't know the password, but I needed to get into their common room anyway, all in hope that Elen hadn't gone off to Hogsmeade yet. Due to late night reading or snogging or whatever, Claws tend to be the last ones to get up and such, and my sis was certainly one of the worst ones. Coming to think of it, it probably runs in the family.

"It isn't _swordfish_ by any chance?" I addressed the portrait. For some reason, most of the passwords in this world tend to be _swordfish_.

The old man shook his head and focused on me, as much as he was capable of focusing at all.

"I _could_ slip you through, my lady," he began, and I felt a futile burst of hope. "If... if you defeat me in an honourable game of chess."

I just shrugged.

"No, thanks. Someone is due to show up sooner or later."

You don't want to play chess against a Ravenclaw, even if he is a centuries-old alchemist that can't remember his own name. Trust me on this.

The reason I was there was, well, quite unreasonable. I've never been a moaning, whining kid. When I fell from a tree I never ran to Mum, crying - I climbed the tree again as soon as the first rush of pain went by. But I was fourteen, alone, and in a bad mood. I just sort of wanted to talk to my older sister, is all.

"_Flamel's integer_," someone murmured just by my ear. I recognized the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood even before I turned around.

"Mind me passing through?" I asked her.

She stared at me, or better, _through_ me, for a moment, then tilted her head to one side, watching the portrait opening. I was wondering whether she had forgotten about me already, when, finally, she nodded once.

Luna was a year above me and I felt some sort of strange sympathy mixed with pity for her. Loony and Weirden. We were in the same boat, sort of. I might have tried to actually talk to her sometimes, if only it wasn't for her annoying habit of staring right through your head and talking rubbish. On second notion, she was quite irritating when you spent more than three minutes in her company, but compared to most of her housemates she was a fluffy, white teddy-bear.

"You are Weirden," she pointed out. "Your sister doesn't like you coming here."

I was about to say something sarcastic about my sister's taste in people, but Luna just chattered on as we stepped through the portrait and walked down the short corridor towards their common room.

"My sweetheart says it's the Hogsmeade weekend," she said vaguely, and I wondered what was going on in her head; a concept of _topic_ would probably be too much to expect from her. "I had forgotten. He says we should go and sit in a pub. I'm not really fond of pubs, but neither is he, so that should be all right. You can come with us if you dislike pubs."

"Um..." I said, frantically trying to think of a polite excuse. "You see, I..." My lying potential seemed to have been spent, for that morning at least. "Er, thanks, I have to study," I said lamely, and hurried to change the topic. "So, if you're going to Hogsmeade, why are you coming back to the common room?"

"Oh, I forgot to put the earrings on. The ones that go with my necklace."

Considering her necklace, the earrings she had in mind were probably made of beer-bottle corks too. I'm not overly interested in clothing and such _girly_ things; on the other hand, not noticing Luna's fashion sense would probably mean you've spent your life in a coal mine on one of Pluto's satellites or something. I am always the one to value one's sense of individuality; to dress like Luna does, you need some courage, and I have to respect that. So, I can understand corks, radishes, that kind of stuff. Yet, she would do better to take care of her socks. I, at least, took some pains to find two matching pieces.

On the other hand, even Loony Lovegood had someone to go to Hogsmeade with.

"Hey, Elen! Here's your Weird Sister!"

Ravenclaws... stunningly clever and witty, as always. That pun must have been years old.

I stood at the entrance of the Ravenclaw common room, observing all the well-known - and yet fascinating - things that were going on in there. Did these people never get tired of playing chess?

Elen walked up to me, closely followed by Mandy Brocklehurst, her permanent shadow. For a change, they were giggling.

"I thought I told you not to come here," was the first thing Elen said as soon as she was out of the others' hearing range. She spoke hurriedly and her voice was hushed, as if she hoped to avoid being noticed with me. "Next time I'll tell the Alchemist not to let you in, no matter what."

"Thanks for asking." I rolled my eyes and smiled sweetly. "I'm feeling better. Nice day today. Good day to you too. I can't decide which of my favourite sarcastic lines I should use at the moment. I could think about it a bit and then come back and tell you."

Mandy giggled. Honestly, I think she's quite glad whenever someone puts Elen down, even a little bit. Having this in mind, why the hell would I want a best friend at all?

Elen just glared at me for a moment, but I could see she was sort of sorry. She would never let it show, of course, especially not in front of Mandy and the rest of the chess gang, but I was almost sure a kind of remorse was there, deep down. Maybe _remorse_ is too strong a word, though. Pangs of conscience?

Whatever it was, I wondered if I should be as mean as to use it for my own obscure goals: drawing some concern or empathy from my own sister, world dominance, and such. My cunning plans were, however, spoiled by Terry Boot:

"El? You going to chat the whole day with your weirdo sibling or are you playing? I mean it's your turn and all."

I glanced in his direction and realized I had wronged Ravenclaws gravely. I had been talking general stuff. I had been talking stereotypes. Nerdy, bespectacled Ravenclaws playing chess the whole day. Yes, my arse.

They were actually playing _risk_.

_Nerds of the world, forgive me, for I have sinned!_

Terry's words seemed to have brought Elen back to immediate reality, and even the vaguest hint of sisterly feelings disappeared from her eyes - as far as I could tell, at least. Who was _I_ compared to Terry Boot, anyway?

"Coming!" she called to him. "Look, kid..."

She never used my real name in front of people; it was too, well, _weird_. I had decided to keep it for that very reason, actually.

"What happened to your eye?"

That was Mandy.

"What?" Elen inspected me closer, and her lips tightened. I'm sure she'd have stomped her leg had Terry and Mandy not been present. "What have you done _now_?"

Felicity Hartwell had automatically assumed I was a victim of a vicious attack or something. Elen's logic went the other way around: she was sure that, _whatever_ had happened to me, it was all my fault. She hadn't stopped _once_ to consider an alternative.

I hate it when people _assume_ things about me in the first place, even if they are right.

"Hey, there's Loony again!" That was Terry's voice. I turned to see Luna coming down the stairs that led to the dorms. "Hello, Loony," Terry continued. "I thought you had lost your big-bottle earrings. Corkscrews would be much more useful, I've always said. But I guess they'd get _borrowed_ much more often, then, wouldn't they? Whenever someone is too drunk to remember the bottle-opening spell. Tin-openers would be nice, too. Think about that, would you?"

Luna drifted through the common room, her face completely serene, with no sign that she had heard Terry at all.

Elen turned towards the boy, arched an eyebrow, and said nothing. I still can't figure out whether she was reprimanding him for taunting Luna or simply expressing jealousy. I was half turned away, but of the corner of my eye I saw a couple of heads turning towards Terry in protest - probably because he was distracting their genial little minds from their respective strategy games. Someone - I think it was Patil - even murmured something on the lines with 'Can't I have my morning moment of introversion without someone trying to be witty?' Terry just grinned and shrugged.

"I think I could heal that, Weirden."

Mandy again. I think her intentions were basically good, although she used every opportunity to use my name in front of Elen, who was obviously irritated by that. However, I wasn't in the mood for accepting charity, even a well-intended one. Elen's degrading question about what _I_ had done as well as the overwhelming Ravenclaw witticisms were just too much for me, I guess.

"So?" my sister enquired impatiently. "What was it now?"

I glared into her eyes for a moment and said, as loud as I could, "I ran into a_ door_!" Then I turned on my heel and stormed off.

She was treating me like an idiot. And I had earned these ugly bruises _defending **her** bloody honour_ yesterday! What a fool I was!

"Weirden, _wait_. _Weirden!_"

Now she was probably sorry, but I had no intentions whatsoever of stopping.

Luna was standing a couple of yards down the corridor, for some reason waiting for me. I stalked past, but she fell into step with me.

"I don't like your sister's earrings," she said matter-of-factly.

"I don't like my sister's _attitude_."

"Still, it must be nice to have a sister. I would like to have a sister."

"No, you wouldn't. Trust me." I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Tell me, Luna, how do you survive the company of your housemates on daily basis? I always get the impression that every single one of them is a complete jerk."

"I think Rowena Ravenclaw was nice," she said vaguely. "Stop for a moment."

I did so, without thinking. Luna raised her wand, touched it gently to the left side of my face and muttered a spell before I could protest. It felt strange, but not unpleasant, tickling for a few moments, and the pain was no more.

"It's gone," she proclaimed. "Now you look nice again."

The fact was, I _never_ looked _nice_, but maybe, just maybe, Luna wasn't such a bad character. At least she didn't hate me on sight. Perhaps I could talk to her. Now, don't misunderstand me, I had no desire to open up to a girl I barely knew, or anything. It was just that... Oh, I guess I only wanted to talk about what had happened to me. Not to whine or complain, just retell the bloody event and get rid of all the frustration I felt.

"Know what happened to me yesterday? A bunch of Slytherin guys ganged up on me," I said and chuckled quite uneasily. "And I, of course, couldn't keep my mouth shut, and they were offending Elen, which pushed me over the edge, really, and..."

I turned in search of some reaction and saw she wasn't there any more. A yard or two down a side corridor, she was strolling calmly, as if I had never existed, and, as far as I could see, she was ambling towards two guys who were standing at a corner. She walked up to one of them and kissed him lightly on the cheek. I recognized the guy as Blaise Zabini, a clueless geek who was a laughing stock to most of the students. Luna had found an appropriate boyfriend, it seemed. The other one was Theodore Nott, of all people. The guy who had first defended me, then laughed at me, then shunned me in the worst way. I had no wish to talk to either of them.

Having turned around and started walking away, I heard a voice that was obviously talking about me. Luna's voice.

"That's Weirden Briggs, I think she has an aversion to Terry Boot as well. I said she could come with us."

Why on Earth did she suppose I would want to do anything of the sort? I mean, how would you have felt if you actually decided to _talk_ to someone - a think you don't do, as a rule - and she ignored you just like that? And _then_ she talked about you as if you weren't even present.

"No, thanks," I yelled, without waiting for the others' answer. "I'll just go find some dynamite to play with."

As soon as I had reached a corridor that wasn't frequented by many, I stopped, dried the tears from my eyes, and kicked the wall. The tears of anger, mind. I don't cry as such. Sometimes I just can't control that stupid salty water caused by anger alone. So there.

I was sure of one thing: I wasn't about to engage in a long session of whining and self-pity. That's for sissies. I don't _do_ such. Anger, on the other hand, is completely all right. Anger is acceptable. Anger is an emotion for _the strong_.

Having had a satisfying brawl with the wall and after deciding I was just going to bruise my fists and toes if I continued, I let myself relax a bit. What was I going to do now? Go back to the common room, write my Potions essay, and have a pleasant chat with the first and second years? _No way_... Tunnelling usually worked for me in situations like this, but I felt sick to death of tunnelling too. Running mindlessly around, exploring the stupid passageways, avoiding booby traps? I didn't need physical exercise, I needed to sit down and _think_.

The broom closet on the third floor wasn't an exceptionally comfortable place, but at least it was Mrs. Norris-free most of the time, so I sat down and unpacked my bag. My teddy bear - I had totally forgotten about it. I wasn't about to cuddle it, of course (that was for sissies, too), but I thought of a better use for it. Transfigured into a pillow, it at least made my arse feel more comfortable.

My backpack is a strange place (and I say _place_ intentionally). Have you seen _Mary Poppins_? Remember that fabulous handbag of hers? The one where she keeps things like a wall-mirror and a coat hanger? Well, _my_ backpack must belong to the same sort, although I had bought it in a normal Muggle shop. If you looked deep enough, you could find various useless stuff there. A sandwich, for example, half-eaten and very _very_ old. It must have been the one Mum gave me before I took the Hogwarts Express, and that had been over a month before. The smell was proof number one. I put the thing back, hoping that maybe a civilization would develop there if I let it lie long enough.

The next thing I found was my knife, the same one I had intended to use on the Slytherins. I didn't have much use for it now, unless I intended to slit my wrists or something. Which I didn't. That's for weaklings.

Having fished out a deck of cards, I instantly felt slightly better. Nice, normal _Muggle_ cards. With pictures that _didn't_ move, for a change. As you can see, I had grown terribly tired of the wizarding world. Petty squabbles. Elitism without any foundation in reality. Stupid house rivalries.

In the Muggle world people at least fought about _big_ things, and they didn't do it as openly and as _universally_ as here. Did they? I was exaggerating, perhaps, but the fact was - prejudices seemed to blossom in the wizarding world. I was infested with some of those same prejudices myself, but at least I was _aware_ of it. Elen _wasn't_. _No one_ was.

I started to open a game of patience. It had always helped me calm down.

Wondering and pondering over things is never a good thing to do; what is the point, after all? Sometimes, however, you can't help it. I guess my pondering time had finally arrived.

Until that day I couldn't have cared less that people didn't like me. After all, I've never tried to be likable. If you aren't so by nature, you probably have to work on it. I didn't, and, furthermore, I despised the people who did. Mandy Brocklehurst, for instance. She probably hadn't been such a bad character _initially_, but then she started working on her popularity. I knew _I_ wasn't capable of such.

On the other hand, for the first time in many years, I felt bad sitting on my own. Not that I desired any specific company, just...Well, it would have felt good to know somebody actually cared. My own sister, for one.

To be completely honest, she probably _did_, in a way; only, I was too proud to try and make her show it. Ravenclaws, by default, didn't show their emotions. Only, default is, _by default_, an extremely dumb thing. Everyone's judgment on you was, at least partly, based on the stupid house you belonged to. Even your _own_ opinion about yourself was somewhat influenced by the stereotype of your damn house.

I watched a card I had just turned over. Where in the name of hell was I supposed to put a seven of spades?

And what kind of Hufflepuff was I anyway? I was loyal, you must give me that. If only I had had someone to be loyal _to_. I was loyal to my sister who didn't give a friggin _damn_ about the fact. Besides, Gryffs were loyal too. You can't be brave and noble without being loyal to your friends. Even _Slytherins_ were loyal to their families and their house.

What were the other things? Fairness? I didn't know if I possessed any. Judging people by intelligence is probably as wrong as judging them by their bloodline. Helpfulness? I couldn't remember actually helping anyone with anything, not that they have asked. What else? Diligence? I was as hardworking as your next person, basically. My grades were all right, and I was very good at some subjects. Only, in my case, it had been _stubbornness_ more often than industriousness. And a Claw could be as hardworking as any Puffie. Even Slyths had to work hard if they wanted to achieve their goals and fulfil their supposed ambitions.

I turned another card - ace of hearts, luckily. Maybe it was going to work, after all. Or... not. The two of hearts was nowhere to be seen, for one, and I was sort of stuck already.

Since I obviously didn't possess all that many of usual Hufflepuff characteristics, it made me wonder what traits and qualities I _did_ have.

Besides from being antisocial, well... I was stubborn, cheeky, and assertive most of the time. I knew how to threaten, how to make people respect me or fear me or whatever. I was proud, that was for sure, proud and highly individualistic. I didn't have any problems with fighting dirty. And I was very very good at lying, when I put my mind to it.

All of which made me speculate if, had my father been a wizard, the Hat might have sorted me into Slytherin. And, had it done so, would I have been any happier?

Maybe I could understand the Slytherin people better than Puffs? How the hell should I know that when I didn't even _know_ any Slyths, not really. Maybe I would have fitted in, in a way, not that I particularly wanted to. That Nott guy, for instance, seemed quite cool - or it had been so until he remembered my mostly nonexistent bloodline. Freak. But, had my father been anything but a pure Muggle, maybe I would have been treated differently. Perhaps... but I couldn't know that.

I didn't reach any conclusions.

The patience did not work out for me.


	4. Sociopaths

**Disclaimer**: Everything you can think of belongs to JKR, but the line 'Who pissed in her soup?' is from 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series by George R. R. Martin.

**A/N**: First of all, I want to thank everyone for the reviews, to apologize for the long wait (it's been a busy… term), and, of course, to thank Hedgehog/Joanna for wonderful betaing - and especially for making me rewrite the introductory scene!

Second, I need to warn you about the PoV in this chapter. It's messy. It's been messy throughout the fic, but in this chapter it's a bit messier. Basically, this is a first person PoV fic, and the parts about Nott are, supposedly, also told by Weirden, based on a later account by Nott (if you know what I mean). She sounds a bit omniscient, but there you are. Anyway, the first part of this chapter is about Nott, and it's rather clear - at least up to the point when he runs into Weirden, who then refers to self in the first person. Just thought that I'd warn you, so that you don't get overly confused. I'm aware it's a strange solution, but it was the best Joanna and I could think of. The second part of the chapter is a normal first person narrative.

It was the same morning, but somewhat earlier - although 'early' might not be the right word since the morning was threatening to turn into noon. Nott lay in his bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Most of the time he was dimly aware of the voices, although he tried very hard not to listen. The sounds of a boys' dormitory on a Saturday morning aren't the most interesting thing in the world. Someone was whining about a still unfinished Potions essay, someone else was planning the Hogsmeade trip. _Everyone_ was discussing the yesterday's Quidditch match. Nott turned around and put the pillow over his head – not that it helped much.

Next time he woke up, the room was somewhat less noisy. To be precise, there were only two voices to be heard. The amused, louder one was Malfoy's; the deeper, grunting one belonged to Moon. Nott thought it was probably still Quidditch and almost dismissed it, when he heard something that caught his interest.

"Your nose was broken, for one," Malfoy was saying lazily. "I saw it, yesterday night. And the whole room smells of cigarettes, although we all know Nott never smokes in here because his darling Zabini hates it. And now you tell me you are going to Hogsmeade without Nott. Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on?"

_Oh Gods_, Nott thought. _I hope the idiot won't babble_. If Malfoy found out about what had happened yesterday, the whole school would know before the day was over. And the situation might become… highly unpleasant.

Moon mumbled something that sounded like 'mind your own business'.

"Troubles in heaven?" It sounded like Malfoy was grinning. "I _have_ to find out about this."

Moon didn't reply.

"Look, I'll let you copy my Transfiguration equation – well, the first part of it – if you tell me."

"No."

Moon's voice was somewhat sullen, but firm. If an ox could speak, he might sound like that. Oh, an ox might not _like_ pulling carts, but if he was already set to do it, then he was bloody well _going_ to do it, Nott thought.

"Oh, all _right_. I'll give you the whole thing. Just change the order so that McGonagall doesn't notice."

"No."

With his stubbornness and his blind loyalty and the one-sided view on things, Moon might have made a fine Huffie, thought Nott. Not that any Hufflepuff would _agree_ with the statement. The thought was amusing. He'd have chuckled, but for the danger of being heard. Everyone thought him asleep, and he was absolutely content with such a state of affairs.

"So you won't tell me what happened?"

"_No_."

"We could push him a bit…"

The enthusiastic voice belonged to Crabbe. He tended to get all cheerful when the option of pushing someone into doing something came up. Malfoy ignored him, though.

"Fine," he sniffed indignantly. "_Don't_ tell me anything. I can always ask Nott, you know. Your loss."

Moon actually chuckled.

"Try and wake him," he said, and Nott couldn't help grinning into his pillow. He had spun wards around his bed before he went to sleep last night, and for once, it proved useful.

"Closed himself in again, so that no one would disturb his beauty sleep, did he?" Malfoy snorted. "Never mind. I'll talk to Sleeping Beauty later."

Satisfied, Nott rolled over, re-wrapped in his blanket, and dozed off again. When he woke up the next time – he wasn't sure how much time had passed or what time it was – luckily the room was empty. It had started emptying quite early, actually, he remembered vaguely. He had been half asleep for a time, but he had been aware of Blaise slipping out of his bed while everyone else was still fast asleep. Not that getting up early was unusual for Blaise, but Nott suspected that this time it hadn't been in order to get the best seat in the library (whatever he actually meant by 'the best seat'…) or to go fly a bit while no one could see him. _No, it's that mysterious girlfriend of his_, Nott thought lazily, aware that he should probably be more interested in the matter. His own problems occupied much more of his attention, though.

When he had woken for the second time, Nott could hear Goyle humming in the bathroom – Goyle had never quite got it straight that humming was supposed to be slightly less _loud_, for one. The boy was shaving, Nott supposed. At the age of seventeen, Goyle had finally discovered shaving, and now he did it every other morning. He wasn't especially skilled at it, though, so he had to get up half an hour earlier than anyone else… Only, most often they got up right after him anyway – awakened by the flow of expletives when Goyle cut himself.

The third time Nott had awakened, he listened in on that conversation between Malfoy and Moon.

Waking up the fourth time, he sat up in bed, blissfully aware that the dorm was empty – and that all the probability was that the Great Hall wasn't overly crowded either. Yes, he knew he was simply postponing the imminent confrontation with the real world. _So what?_

The Slytherin table was almost empty when he finally showed up. He had counted exactly on that, of course. What he hadn't counted on was Riley's presence. Riley, who looked quite sick – probably because of all the cigarettes they had smoked last night. Riley had never quite got used to smoking, but insisted on doing so because it was what Nott did. He also insisted that he was the first one of the gang who had started smoking – which was a big lie, and completely unimportant at the moment. _What was I thinking about? Oh, all the cigarettes we smoked… yes._ Nott suddenly realized that the cardboard taste in his mouth wasn't a consequence of the bitterness of life but of one hell of a lot of cigarettes, the stupid coughing potion, and forgetting to brush his teeth afterwards.

Riley – all pale and rough-haired and with bags under his eyes – was sitting in their usual place, obviously not eating. He looked as if he was waiting for something – and getting quite impatient about it. When he saw Nott, he smirked in a way he probably thought to be exceptionally nasty.

What Nott wanted to do was sit down, _eat_ his bloody breakfast as fast as possible, never looking up from his plate, and – beat it.

Had he done this, everyone would have known he'd lost.

He grinned insolently instead, looking straight at Riley, and cast himself in the chair by the side of the only distinctly female-looking student around.

"Morning, Millicent!"

She turned her head, winced, and put a hand to her forehead. Opening her eyes obviously wasn't an easy job.

"Please don't shout," she managed. And then, "Where's my coffee?"

"Right in front of you. But, frankly, I'd recommend a cup of tea first. With lots of lemon. Or, even better… tomato juice?"

A glass materialized on the table before him – blessed be the house elves – and he passed it to Millicent, still grinning at her, even though grinning wasn't what his face wanted to do at the moment. Growling, on the other hand…

Millicent groaned.

"I hate the stuff." She took a small sip anyway. "Yuck! What day is it anyway?"

"Saturday. Mercifully."

"How can you be so _cheerful_, Nott?"

"Practice."

"I hate you."

"That's enough. I have to talk to you, Nott." The voice belonged to Riley.

Nott was aware of Riley's gaze across the table. He had been aware of it for some time now, and the gaze had only been becoming more intensive. Less patient. Angrier. Nott hoped to use that to his advantage.

"Thanks, Millicent, mate. Excuse me for a second," he told her, before turning to face Riley.

The other boy was clutching his fork as if he was going to hurl it at Nott or attack his half-eaten bacon at any moment or whatever.

The most important thing in the situation was to keep the upper hand during the whole conversation. Or, even better, preventing any conversation from taking place. Riley would want to blackmail him or something, Nott was sure. He was also sure that the other boy wouldn't try to do it shouting across half the Great Hall. Or – more literally – half the Slytherin table.

"Really," said Nott, doing his best to keep the grin on. "Go on."

"You don't think I'd do it _here_!"

"Don't _shout._" That was, of course, Millicent.

"Sorry," Nott said, turning to her, and then grinned in Riley's general direction again. "Why not?"

Riley was silent for a moment, holding his fork as if he was waiting for someone to scream _Charge!_ He was obviously trying to restore his self control. The boy was often very irritable in the mornings, especially if he didn't get enough sleep during the previous night. It paid to know the weaknesses of your enemies and use them against them. Even if the enemies used to be your friends. _Especially_ then.

"Meet me at the usual place," Riley said slowly, rising from his chair, obviously unable to sit peacefully even one moment longer. "In half an hour."

He turned on his heel and started away.

"Wait."

Riley turned.

"Do you mean the abandoned vault near big southern corridor?" said Nott, making sure that everyone heard him. "Or that padded classroom next to the club meeting place?"

_That should cover it_, he thought. Having made sure that half the Slytherin house now knew about their secret meeting places, Nott knew he had scored again. First of all, he had made Riley angry in front of everyone, thus making him look like a fool. No Slytherin liked making a fool of themselves. The second plus was, he had let Riley - and everyone else - know he wasn't afraid of him, he wasn't going to be cowed easily. Oh, and the gang would be forced to find new meeting places too.

And all that in just a few words.

Nott wondered why, then, it all didn't make him feel any better.

"So," he turned to Millicent, "good party, huh?"

"As far as I _remember_, yes," she pointed out. It seemed she showed signs of occasional wit when she was pissed off. Pity she looked like an elephant.

Nott continued exchanging occasional pleasantries, sarcastic comments, and glasses of yoghurt and tomato juice with Millicent, not giving more than half the thought to the process. It gave him some space to _think_.

So, what did Riley want, exactly? Blackmail or threaten him, most probably. But why wait for him at the table, why not leave it for later? Maybe he wanted to make an arrangement… reach an agreement? Hm. Nott was open to different possibilities, of course… Only, not on Riley's terms. If he agreed to come to a meeting place Riley had chosen, at Riley's time… Well, it was obvious who would end up on top.

Nott sighed. Calculating, manipulating, and strategizing was fun, for sure… On the other hand, sometimes he just wanted to be spared, at least early in the morning. _Late_ in the morning. _Whenever_.

He wished he could duel with Riley, win (or, much less probably, lose), and get the thing over with. The endless plots were, well, _endless_, and therefore tiring.

Nott looked round, taking in the people sitting at the Slytherin table. First and second years, mostly; the older students were probably already in Hogsmeade. The first and second years that, he was absolutely sure of it, were considerably smaller and thinner than he and his friends at their age. The first years that now looked at them as a human might look up at a god. And they did what humans usually do – looked up at them, cowered, and secretly plotted how to pull them down and place their _own_ gods in their stead.

Did all the paranoid people get sorted into Slytherin, or did Slytherin make one utterly paranoid, Nott wondered.

He also wondered how much they knew, how much they had guessed by looking at Moon's broken nose and listening to his dispute with Riley – and how much their heads were filled with the newest and probably very melodramatic gossip made up by Pansy Parkinson. She probably claimed she had pried it out of Malfoy, who, of course, knew everything that was worth knowing.

Coming to think of it, the Pansy-option was probably most harmless of all.

Her stories tended to be colourful, captivating, and utterly surreal most of the time. Everyone loved listening to her. _Her_ stories were much more likely to spread throughout Hogwarts than the bleak account of events by Jerome Riley or Pete Derek. _Perhaps I should encourage one of Pansy's stories_.

And Riley… Riley wasn't likely to tell the world what had really happened. Theodore Nott Jr. defending a Hufflepuff Mudblood would have made a good enough scandal, only… Only, Riley would have to explain why he and the rest of the gang didn't take care of it anyway. Four against one. Seemed easy enough. Riley sure wasn't going to admit he was afraid to face Nott in an open duel even with three blokes to support him. From that side, he was partly safe, Nott estimated.

Only, stories had their own way of springing up and getting revealed in the ways you least expected them to do. One should never feel too safe, he thought.

"Damn you, Theo," was the first thing Blaise said when Nott nearly walked right into him in the corridor. Blaise was standing to the right from the library door talking to Luna Lovegood, of all people.

"Oh no," Nott muttered, remembering the yesterday night's conversation with Blaise. "Oh, _no_." Lovegood was a laughing stock of half the school. Blaise's reputation was shaky enough even without this mess, Nott thought.

"Damn," Blaise repeated, but didn't seem in the least annoyed. As a matter of fact, he looked much more cheerful than anyone had the right to be on a gloomy morning like this, Nott thought. "We've been waiting for you for _ages_, Theo. What have you been _doing_?"

"Ignoring Riley, entertaining the whole table, and chatting up Millicent Bullstrode. Don't ask. Hello, Lovegood."

"Good morning, Theodore Nott," she said vaguely.

"By the way, Theo," Blaise began, a bit wary all of a sudden. He had his glasses back on his nose, Nott noticed. Had probably forgotten them at Luna's, or something. "I was wondering…"

"All right," Nott snapped, "What exactly have you heard?"

Blaise was one of those rare people in whose presence Nott could afford to snap.

Blaise looked at Luna, and they shared a knowing smile. Nott was slightly irritated.

"Actually," said Blaise, "we are going to Hogsmeade and were wondering if you'd like to come with us…"

Nott furrowed his eyebrows. Blaise hated going to Hogsmeade, _hated_ it. He usually stayed at Hogwarts and used the time to fly a bit around while no one was looking. Blaise was quite an exceptional flyer, but was terribly shy about it. And now… he was taking Lovegood to Hogsmeade where everyone could _see _them, see them _together_. And what's more, he seemed to expect Nott to go with them. Or was it just politeness?

"You don't have to come if you don't want to, you know."

"Oh," Nott stammered, suddenly realising Blaise looked a bit hurt. "It's not that. It's just… I'd forgotten it was this weekend, that's all."

He was suddenly aware of Luna Lovegood's eyes boring right into his own. He smiled at her idly, wondering how firm a grasp of reality the girl had at all.

Lovegood was still staring at him.

"We've heard what happened yesterday," she said conversationally. "You saved Weirden Briggs from serious bullying and harassment."

"Oh, Luna, I don't think it's really tactful to…" Blaise began.

"I think it was very brave," the girl continued, completely unperturbed. She continued staring into Nott's eyes, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable, as well as slightly flattered, for some reason.

"Well," he muttered, "Thanks." An unwilling blush was starting to develop from his neck upwards, but was suddenly stopped. The girl had just patted his upper arm reassuringly, or whatever she'd call it. Nott winced. Luna didn't seem to notice.

"Very very brave. Blaise would have done the same," she stated firmly, turned on her heel, and walked away.

"What the hell…"

"I think she might have forgotten something in her room," Blaise said calmly.

"That… happens a lot?"

"Yeah, she's quite forgetful," Blaise grinned suddenly. "Just like me."

_How did they manage to become so much of an item in just one day_, Nott wondered idly. _Clueless, united_, he thought, but didn't want to roll his eyes at Blaise. Besides, he had more pressing matters to think about.

"All right," he said, "Now you are going to tell me everything, Blaise. Okay?"

Blaise blushed.

"Well… if you are interested, all right."

"Um, yes, Blaise, of course I'm interested."

"Well, we've been sitting next to each other in the library for over a month, now. And, with one thing and another, we started to chat, and…"

_Oh, Gods, he's telling me how he got together with Lovegood!_

"Blaise."

"Huh?"

"I meant, how in the name of Hell did you find out about the Briggs incident. Not how you met Luna."

"Oh," Blaise looked slightly hurt. _Again. Damn me_.

"I mean, I'd like to hear about that too, but these are more pressing matters. Life and death and all that. Come on, don't be a jerk."

"All right, all right. But I shouldn't be telling you this, you know."

"I won't tell anyone. Damn it, Blaise, it's definitely not in my interest to tell _anyone_. I thought you got that."

"Basically, Riley told the Bloody Baron what happened."

"Riley told Baron?" _Damn_.

"Seems so, yeah."

"And Baron told _you_?"

"Oh, no. I don't think he'd be telling anybody, honestly. But it seems that the Gray Lady was spying on the Baron at the moment, so she overheard the conversation."

"So, the Gray Lady told you?"

"No, she told Luna. And Luna told me."

_Oh. Gods!_

"So," Nott did his best to appear calm. "I expect half the school know by now. Ravenclaws aren't exactly famous for their discretion."

"Um, Luna swore to tell no one but me."

"I didn't mean Luna, Blaise."

"Well, the Gray Lady isn't going to tell anyone else, of course."

"Yeah, right. Of course."

Blaise smiled contentedly, completely failing to notice the sarcasm.

"Blaise."

"What?"

"_Why_ are you so sure the Gray Lady won't tell Elen Briggs and the rest of the geek gang, for Gods' sake?"

Blaise was extremely intelligent, that was a fact. Blaise was well-educated. And yet, Blaise's mind was so prone to wandering that it hurt. He stared at Nott blankly for a moment.

"Why, she's going to blackmail the Baron, of course," he shrugged. "You sometimes ask such stupid questions, Theo. You would be really smart, you know, if only you _concentrated_ a bit."

Nott had absolutely no idea what to say to this, but Luna's arrival saved him. Sort of.

"That's Weirden Briggs," she said dreamily, pointing at _me_. "I think she has an aversion to Terry Boot as well. I said she could come with us."

Suddenly horror-struck, Nott turned around, just to see my back rapidly disappearing down the corridor. I liked the whole matter very little, obviously. More correctly, I was pissed off. _Unusually_ pissed off.

"No, thanks," she yelled, without turning around. "I'll just go find some dynamite to play with."

"Who pissed in her soup?" Nott said and rolled his eyes.

Blaise seemed confused, but then he shrugged and muttered, "Hufflepuffs."

"Luna?"

She turned towards Nott and inclined her head. Her eyes made him uncomfortable.

"Why did you drag Briggs with you?" he asked a tad more roughly than he had intended. "Don't you think it would've been a bit… strange company?"

"_Similar interests are a foundation for a lasting friendship,_" she said in a singsong voice.

_Oh, I forgot who I was talking to_, Nott rolled his eyes inwardly, but said nothing.

"So, shall we?" said Blaise. "I've promised Luna to show her my broomstick first, though."

"You've promised… Your _broomstick_?" Nott barked a laugh.

"Well, yeah. What's so funny about it?"

"Oh, I get it!" Luna declared. "Your broomstick, Blaise!" She giggled. "_Broomstick!_ Get it?"

Blaise just looked at her lovingly, as she continued to laugh. For a long time. Nott realised it was going to be a long, long day.

"Know what, guys?" Nott said, interrupting a heated discussion on magical creatures of some kind, as they passed through the entrance hall. "I don't really feel like going to Hogsmeade today. I think I need to be alone for a while and clear my head, or something. Lots of things to think about."

That was a part of the truth, for sure. The other part was – it's not particularly funny to be the 'third' person. Odd one out and all that. Luna wanted to be with Blaise. Blaise, for whatever reason, wanted to be with Luna. Nott was quite positive that neither of them particularly desired to spend time with him. Only, they were too, well, nice or polite or unassertive to say so, he supposed.

He wasn't going to be anyone's burden, for sure.

Besides, being seen with Blaise Zabini and Luna Lovegood in a place like Hogsmeade would by no means do wonders for his reputation.

Of course he wasn't _jealous_.

Of course he didn't feel _left behind_, let alone _lonely_. Uh-uh. Not him.

"Oh," said Blaise. "Well. If that's what you want."

Nott tried to read relief from his face so that he would have a reason to get angry, but found nothing of the sort.

"If you find us boring, you just need to say so," Blaise continued. _Damn_.

"When you are being a bore, I certainly _do_ tell you so. Damn it, Blaise, don't be difficult. I have myself to deal with, and that's quite enough. I need to think, is all."

Luna glanced at him, and then looked at Blaise.

"He needs to think, Blaise," she declared.

Then she turned her gaze to Nott.

"I suggest you go find Weirden Briggs, Theodore. You two have very similar ways of thinking, and she is also a very difficult person, just like you."

"Oh, for Gods' sake, Luna!" Blaise sounded genuinely shocked. "She's a Hufflepuff and a…a… _muggleborn_ and a complete freak altogether. And didn't show any gratitude whatsoever after Theo saved her! Why should _he_ seek _her_ out?"

"_Misfits put together make for better weather_," she chanted and walked away, Blaise close at her heels. Her head was still half-turned towards Nott. For a moment he thought she had winked at him.

"Halfblood," Nott said, more to himself than to anyone else. "She's not a Mudblood. She's a halfblood, damn it."

Just like Millicent, after all.

Sometimes, when you _know_ you need to think, you find out that your own thoughts tend to fool you. They wander, they waylay you, and suddenly you realize you are thinking about breakfast or Quidditch or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, for Gods' sake – only to avoid thinking about the subject that needs your attention.

Theo Nott was completely unable to think about anything whatsoever at the moment.

"Baron!" he called out. He was wandering through the empty Dungeons half-aimlessly and half-hoping to run into the Bloody Baron and clear the things up with him, at least. "Oh, come on! I know you're out there, somewhere. _Baron_!"

"Leave me alone," a voice whispered hoarsely from somewhere in the shadows. "Blood traitor and defector of your kin!"

Nott still couldn't locate the Baron, but he turned in the general direction of the voice.

"I didn't actually betray anyone, you know!" he said, "I thought you'd come to me first, but _no_. You believed Jerome Riley, of all people, rather than me. _Great_!"

Nott felt betrayed and hated himself for the feeling. He was aware he was close to yelling, was aware he should probably try to play cool – for the danger of being overheard, if nothing else - and was also aware that he simply – couldn't. Not now, not with Baron. Besides, if he couldn't allow himself to shout at Baron, he couldn't shout at _anyone_, ever.

"Do you deny the rumours I've heard, then?"

"_No_, I _don't_," he almost stomped his foot, but decided that would be pushing it just a bit too far. He also tried to lower his voice. "I don't deny _anything_. Yeah, I'm a blood traitor and whatnot. _Fine_!"

He knew he was being stubborn, childish, and utterly undiplomatic, and a part of him – the rational part – told him he wouldn't get anywhere with that attitude, not with the Bloody Baron. But his rational self wasn't strong enough to take control over his emotions; it was barely strong enough to hover in the background and be glad that the school was almost empty, so that the conversation wasn't likely to be eavesdropped on.

"So you admit to your betrayal?"

"_Yes_. Yes, I _do_!"

He was aware he sounded more _sulky_ than bitter, and didn't like it one bit. Neither did the Baron, it seemed – not that he was expected to. The ghost hissed with irritation, and his whisper seemed to come from further away this time.

"Foresworn, runagate child! When Notts betray, the world shall come to its end!"

"Well, go prepare for it, then, Baron! The world is ending. _So there_!"

Nott turned around and ran in the opposite direction, his steps echoing through the dungeons. He could still hear Baron's dampened fuming, but only just, so he stopped to catch his breath, and then sat down.

_How on Earth did I end up screaming at a ghost_? he thought suddenly, replaying the whole scene in his head. _Like a hysterical middle aged woman. What happened to my bloody self-control? Damn it, the only thing I wanted to do was _explain_ some things to him!_

He was tired and pissed and the only thing he wanted was… Well, he wasn't sure what he wanted any more. He wanted them to _leave him alone_, all of them. Yes, that was it. He wasn't positive on what exactly he meant by 'leaving alone' – or 'them', for that matter - but that was what he wanted. He was _sick_ of it all.

There were too many people who _knew_ already. Baron, the Gray Lady, Blaise, Luna. Himself, of course. Riley and the gang. The Briggs girl (_what was her name?_). Who of them would tell? Sooner or later, the story would leak, that was for sure. No, it was _already_ leaking. Riley had told Baron, and Nott could guess his motives easily. Revenge, of course. Riley couldn't tell other people because… well, because the whole story made him, Riley, look like a complete idiot. On the other hand, Baron _already_ thought Riley was an idiot, so it changed nothing on _that_ field. And Baron wouldn't spread the story, of course. Slytherin pride and all that. It was a shameful secret that should be buried deep. Such. But the consequence of telling Baron – the one Riley had obviously counted on – was that Baron would come to hate Nott, for one. Well, maybe 'hate' wasn't the right word. Despise?

_Baron was supposed to be my _friend_! Why would he trust _Riley

"Maybe because Riley was _right_, for one," Nott muttered, jumped up, and started walking briskly. Walking was better than sitting on the dungeon floor, muttering to himself, still shaking with anger.

Anger directed at _himself_, mostly.

_And now I've just messed up _royally_. I should have talked to Baron, but _no_, what I do is come to him and scream at him. How clever. How bloody _subtle_ of me. The best strategy _ever

Only, he was tired of strategies.

Riley was a cunning bastard, Nott had to give him that.

He looked around, frowned, and barked a laugh. Just like in books – he had come to the very place of yesterday's conflict, without giving it a thought. Here's where he had stood, here's where Riley had stood, and there's where Briggs had been.

What was he doing here, anyway?

_If more people found out – would I really care?_ he wondered, as he bent down to pick a small item from the ground. He didn't know the answer to his own question, though.

_Well, they _are_ going to find out, sooner or later, so I'd better get used to it_. Baron might keep it silent out of shame. Even the Gray Lady might not tell – if she indeed wanted to blackmail Baron. But, was Luna able to keep her mouth shut, even if she wanted to? Nott didn't know Luna, and what he saw he didn't understand. At all.

_And why would Briggs keep silent? Because of my threats? _He wasn't sure it would work with her. She'd probably tell her sister, for one. That's what he'd have done.

Had some of this happened a month or two ago, a part of him might have been delighted at the prospect of Elen Briggs finding out all about it. Luna thought it was brave. Maybe Elen would be a bit impressed too… Only, at the moment, he didn't give a damn about what Elen Briggs thought.

_And what's the first name of the younger Briggs, anyway?_ She had told him, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember, even though Luna had mentioned it. A couple of times, actually. It was something quite ridiculous, that much he knew. Not that it mattered any.

He fingered the thingy he had picked up from the ground, took it out of his pocket, and inspected it: a rather cheap-looking yellow and black medallion with a tiny badger on it.

_Halfblood_, he thought idly, _like Millicent_. Then he did a simple finding charm and was on his way.

"_Alohomora!_" was what interrupted my musings about unlucky patiences and the general unfairness of life, and the door sprang open with a bang. Highly dramatical. I half expected to see a dark silhouette lingering at the door with a rainstorm in the background. Add some lightning and there you are…

It's almost a pity that it was early afternoon, that the light was all wrong, and that you didn't have rainstorms in Hogwarts corridors unless you tried very hard.

I put my wand down.

"Taken," I said. "No vacancy. Go find yourself your own broom closet to angst in."

Theodore Nott still stood at the door, showing no intention whatsoever to move in the near future.

"You are hiding dynamite… where exactly?" he said, referring to something I had said earlier that day… Did he exactly _have_ to be there while I threw my temper tantrum? _Bastard_.

Having raged, cried, and played patience half the morning, I had reached that certain state of calm and resignation when you are _aware_ of your emotions but aren't really _connected_ to them. Had I been in a different mood – rasher, angrier, more explosive – I might have tried to slam the door on him. As it was, it all felt distant, somehow. I couldn't get myself to _care _for the present situation as much as I should. Besides, closing the door on Theodore Nott, of all people, didn't sound like a good idea at that moment.

I decided not to answer, so I just scowled and pretended I was concentrated on my game of patience. Hoping beyond hope he'd go away.

"So?"

"What are you doing here, Nott?" I said evenly, for the first time really wondering what he _did_ want. Had he come to taunt me, having nothing better to do? To whine about Elen, which seemed highly unlikely, having everything else in mind? Or, more logically…

"Look," I said, "If you saw me talking to Snape this morning, you can relax. I didn't tell him anything, I'm not a fool. I made up a story, and it went all right. And no need to threaten me any further. I took yesterday's threat to heart, trust me on that."

He leaned against the door frame and grinned. For some reason, I wasn't sure I liked the grin.

"You didn't even bother to lock the door," he pointed out. I had a vague impression I was talking to Luna Lovegood. Had the world gone mad this morning, or did everyone except me lack the concept of _topic_?

"No," I said. "I didn't. Why would I bother? I'm perfectly capable to take care of whoever walks in." I patted the breast pocket where I kept my wand.

The truth of it was, locking the door hadn't even crossed my mind.

"I told you not to go around alone."

"And you reckon that I'd do whatever you tell me, Nott?"

"Bullshit."

"My point exactly."

"There are dangerous things around here, you know." He didn't say it in a concerned voice; he didn't even sound indifferent. I had a vague impression that he was revelling in the fact.

I felt a strong urge to say something on the lines of _There are many dangerous things out there, and _I'm _one of them_, but I was aware it would have sounded utterly idiotic in this context.

"I'm not kidding," he insisted, still sounding quite delighted at the fact. Or was it my imagination?

"Am I supposed to take this as a threat, a warning, or… what?"

"A warning, I guess. What are you doing here anyway?"

I gave an exasperated sigh.

"That's what I asked _you_, ages ago."

He shrugged.

I shrugged.

He shrugged again.

"Look," I said, "get in or get out, just close the bloody door, all right?"

He chose to get in, for whatever obscure reason.

"Yeah, right," I said, because the situation was strange and I had no idea how to handle it. "Take a seat, why don't you? Relax. Feel at home. Plenty of space here. You can put your luggage down in the back room, and Annie will be here with the tea shortly."

I'd finally made him frown.

"By the way…" he began, and fumbled for something in his breast pocket. I had my wand up and pointing in his direction instantly. He laughed out.

"Not bad, but you still need to work on your reflexes. Did you really think you could take me down that easily?"

"I don't know. I thought you were taking out your wand or something."

"If I cared to duel with you, I would do it openly. Might even give you some advantage. Would still take you down…"

"…one-handed," I put in. "Yeah yeah, I've heard that one before."

"You think I'm bullshitting?"

"Nah."

"By the way, I think this is yours," he stated and pressed something in my hand – the same something he had taken out of his pocket obviously. I took a long stare at it.

"My medallion? The one your friend ripped from my necklace?" I was genuinely surprised.

"Was going that way. Stumbled over it. So I picked it up. Not sure why." He shrugged. "And, he's _not_ my friend."

I shrugged.

"Thanks."

How did one stumble over something that's hardly a half inch thick, I wondered. And how did one notice something as small as a medallion in a torch lit corridor, amongst all the shadows and all that? I said nothing. I was pretty sure what it was, though. The medallion was what you might call a 'conversation-starter'. Like, you come up to someone and say _Here, I found your medallion… By the way, since I'm already here - what a coincidence, hahah - I wanted to talk about your sister_. Or something on the lines.

I replayed in my head what Nott had said, and noticed the last part that had escaped me before. '_And he's not my friend_.'

"Which reminds me," I said. "How did the dormitory inferno go?"

"Hellishly."

_Maybe I should just play along and see what he wants_, I thought.

"Oh? How so?"

He gave me a dark glare.

"Why do you ask, anyway?"

"Um… to advance the conversation? Besides, since that conflict started because of me – partly – I feel somewhat responsible. A bit."

While I was saying it, I realized it was actually true. I _did_ feel responsible. _Stupid Hufflepuff_.

"Well, you don't need to. It's got nothing to do with you."

That was true, of course. It didn't make me feel any better about the matter, but I had to admit it was true.

"Okay," I said.

I shrugged.

He shrugged.

This was getting ridiculous.

"Right," I said matter-of-factly, "If you don't tell me why exactly you came here and what you want from me, and if you don't do it at once, I'm going to thump you on the head with my rucksack!"

Nott looked down at me quite incredulously, his face slowly spreading in a grin. Than he threw his head back and started shaking from laughter. I didn't have a choice but to join.

When the merriment had died down a bit, I sighed and leaned back against the wall. The atmosphere, at least, had become a tad more relaxed (even if _I_ hadn't). I motioned him to sit down and he did. The silence, however, threatened to re-establish itself – and I still didn't have a clue about what the guy wanted. He wanted _something,_ for sure. Slytherins always did.

He stared at my cards, probably buying some time.

"Stupid Muggle things. They don't even move," he said.

"It's quite relaxing, actually. They don't nag at you all the time. Wizarding queens tend to be particularly irritating."

"Well, that's half the fun in the game, isn't it?" He paused. "I sometimes think wizards have all the fun."

"Witches don't have a bad time either, you know,"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know." I grinned. "But there _are _some fun things in the Muggle world too. I miss films over the school year, for instance. Ever heard of films?"

"I'm not uneducated, you know. Besides, I used to take Muggle Studies."

"You did? Why? 'Know the enemy' and all that crap?"

He gave me a dark glare.

"Don't push it, Briggs."

Nott seemed somewhat edgier than the day before, I noticed; I wasn't at my best either, after all that had happened. We fell silent.

"The nine of spades goes on the ten of hearts," he said suddenly, staring down at my abandoned game of patience. "If the rules are the same."

"They are."

_How had I managed to overlook _that_ move_ _before_, I wondered. My concentration hadn't been extremely high, obviously, but _still_.

He moved the card.

"That way we get the ace of diamonds out," he said, and I decided to remember that '_we_'. Something slightly strange was taking place here. "And – look, there's the two too."

"I saw that," I said, which was one big lie, of course.

We spent the next five minutes racing who would notice the possible moves first. Arguing whose moves were better. Such. For a moment I had almost forgotten who I was talking to.

"You mind if I smoke?"

I shook my head.

"Can I have one too?" I said.

He lit a cigarette and arched an eyebrow.

"You smoke, Briggs?"

"Weeell… not as such, no."

"Then no, you can't."

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's not healthy."

"_You_ smoke."

"Well, _you_ won't be starting now."

"But I want to _try_."

"You are an utter idiot, Briggs."

"Yeah, that can be a good, intelligent response to anything I say."

He grinned and moved the pack away from me when I tried to reach for it.

"Briggs?"

"What?"

"I've been trying to remember your first name, but I can't."

"People _don't_ keep forgetting my first name, usually, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I remember it's something freakish, but…"

"Weirden."

"Oh, _Gods_."

"That was your reaction yesterday, also."

"I know."

"You are not suggesting we shift to the first name basis, are you, Nott? Because _that_ would make me very suspicious."

"Don't worry. Just asking. Just… for the record."

"Of course."

"Of course."

I felt an urge to shrug, but suppressed it.

Pause.

"Besides," he continued. "I couldn't call you 'Weirden'. I couldn't call _anyone_ 'Weirden'. I'd be laughing too hard to speak."

"Pity you are called Theodore," I said. "That sounds pretty normal. If your name was Blaise or, say, Draco – I could return the favour."

He chuckled.

"I could shorten 'Weirden' to 'Den', though."

"Then I'd call _you_ 'Dora'. In public."

We stared at each other for a moment, and burst out laughing.

I had relaxed too much, I realized suddenly. Laughed too much; talked too much. What was he doing here? Sitting in a broom closet on a Hogsmeade weekend and playing patience with Weirden Briggs of all people? A Slytherin? A _Nott_? _No way._

I measured him for a moment as he was still gasping for air. Oh, he was pleasant enough when we didn't talk about Houses or families or such crap. A part of me wanted to ignore the facts and just go on laughing until I choked. On the other hand, that was the same part of me that had wanted a cigarette. One should learn not to trust all the parts of oneself.

"All right," I said, "Game over. The moment of truth. Cards on the table. All that."

He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Huh?"

"What the _hell_ do you want from me, Nott?"

He looked at me in surprise, but it lasted just for a second. Then he seemed to sober up, and suddenly he looked tired, of all things.

"Oh, I don't know," he shook his head slightly. "I _really_ don't know."

What caught me unawares was the fact that he sounded quite genuine, actually. I didn't know what to say.

"Right. I'd better be going, then…" He pocketed his cigarettes and jumped up to his feet.

"No." My words surprised myself as much as they did him.

"No?"

I shrugged.

"Well, since you obviously haven't gone to Hogsmeade, and since you have probably got nothing better to do – or you wouldn't have come here in the first place, I guess… You might as well stay."

Yes, it sounded lame. I was completely aware of it. I wasn't even sure why I was doing it, and neither was Nott, it seemed. He looked as if he was waiting for me to say something more, so I did.

"Besides," I continued, "this broom closet is large and comfy and especially fit for camping."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "and Peggie will be here with the tea shortly."

"It's Annie," I said. "Not Peggie. Annie."

"Oh, of course. Right. So…"

For the first time I noticed some air of nervousness and hesitation around him. As for myself, I felt strangely… light-headed. I couldn't be bothered to think coherently at the moment, to analyze his motives and engage in the other paranoid activities usual for me. Whatever happened, I didn't care. For some reason.

"Oh, sit down and take a smoke or something," I said "Who gives a damn, anyway."

"Right."

A pause.

"Know what, Briggs? I think you might turn out to be somewhat okay. For a... muggleborn, I mean."

Had I been in a different mood, I'd have probably laughed at him, just to get back at him for laughing at me the day before – for the very same thing. As it was, I decided to take it as a compliment. I didn't have much choice, anyway.

"Nyah," I said. "You too. For a Slytherin."

"But you mustn't tell anyone I was here. _Anyone_. They'd…"

"Crucify you and feed your body to the newts. Or something. I know. Don't worry."

"And I'm here only because I really have nothing better to do."

"Of course."

"Of course."

He shrugged.

I grinned.

"And," he continued, "no shoulder-clapping, friendly hand-shakes, comforting arm-patting…"

"Okay, I get the point."

"I just don't like that."

"_Fine_."

I noticed a corner of his mouth twitch slightly and wondered if he was pushing it a bit. Pulling my leg, just a tad.

"And…" he paused.

"When you are done setting the rules, Nott, we might…"

"What?"

"I don't know. Play patience?"

"Right."

"Right."

It wasn't much. But it was… a beginning.

THE END


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